


A Year of Growth

by spiders_n



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, But also, F/M, Friends to Lovers, IronMom, May Tony & Pepper acting as a parental unit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Slow Burn, THAT BEING SAID, This is a, Weddings, also fuck endgame, also my i present to you one of my favorite tags, but not compliant with like anything after that, i have no beef with ffh but it just wasn't what i was going for, i said what i said, i'll be honest with y'all, i'm giving the kids what they want, tbh if they're gen z they're bi, that's right folks, there is gonna be fluff, there is gonna be some action, y'all can pry irondad from my cold dead hands, yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 101,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiders_n/pseuds/spiders_n
Summary: Peter has always known that a lot can happen in one year. He'd gotten his spider powers, lost uncle ben, and met Tony all in the same year, so he like really really knows how much can happen in one year. In his experience though, life doesn't usually coordinate it's timing with the 365 days between your birthdays. And if someone had come up to him and said, "listen dude, the year that you spend being 16 is going to be the most eventful year of your life" well, he'd probably scoff because again, he's had a few big years in his time. As it stands, they'd be completely correct.or alternativelyPeter is a spider-dweeb that can't stop making heart-eyes at his best friend (even if he doesn't realize it) and mumble fucks his way into being a better person because of it.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew y'all, i'm finally posting it. 
> 
> This story has been in my head for like maybe a year, but because I'm a grown up with real life responsibilities or whatever (ugh) it's taken me this long to be able to write it out. I have all but the final two chapters of this drafted, so you all will be getting updates regularly. Guys, this is my baby. I've worked so hard for this story to be something decent and i'm pretty proud of where it is. 
> 
> If you like it come visit me on tumblr: spiders-n
> 
> \---  
I want to dedicate this to Caroline, the Peter to my MJ and the best beta a girl could ask for.

**I.**

** _Friday, August 25th. 11:56am _ **

“So I have news,” MJ announces as she comes bounding over to where Peter and Ned are chatting over their half eaten lunches.

Peter looks up at her as he reaches for a baby carrot. It’s the first time he’s seen her that day and he notices, like he always does when she wears her hair this way, that it’s up in a tight bun on top of her head. She only ever wears a bun when she is stressed or nervous and Peter automatically gets a bit worried whenever he sees it bobbing through the crowds in the morning. He’s kind of grateful for it though, because when she wears it, he and Ned know when to offer a helping hand or a laugh when she needs it because she never asks. Today’s bun is paired with a look of determination that makes the new twist of nerves in his stomach tighten. 

“Okay? What’s up?” Ned says from beside him, sounding just as nervous as Peter. 

“I haven’t told you guys this yet” She looks down at her hands, “Cause it’s none of your business but I’ve been talking to a guy from my self-defense class for a couple of weeks and he invited me over for dinner at his place tonight and I’m gonna go.” She pauses for a second, looking up at them, as if she’s waiting for a reaction and then seems to think better of it. “Anyway this is gonna be the third time we’ve gotten together outside of class and i’m pretty sure that means...I’m probably going to be..._ staying the night _ .” She says it a bit more suggestively than is necessary. “And again all of this would be _ none _ of your business, but I kind of told my mom that we’d be doing a movie marathon at Peter’s tonight so...I suppose it’s only right that I let you know that you’re a part of my cover, in case, you know, anyone asks where I am.” 

She looks at the pair of them with a nervous expression that Peter is quite sure he’s never seen on her face before and he is torn between his automatic instinct to do whatever he can to put her at ease and the small tickle in his chest that knotted itself into existence as she started talking that is urging him to ask for more information. 

There’s silence between them for a second. MJ shifts her eyes from Ned to Peter and then back to Ned again. Of all of the plethora of things MJ could have said, this was the absolute last thing Peter was prepared to respond to. Try through his brain desperately does to find even one semi-coherent thought, it can’t. 

A second later Ned, who to Peter’s relief seems to be handling the sudden shift in lunchtime conversation a lot better than he is, breaks.“‘Staying the night’? What a delicate way of putting it.” he says, a small smile on his lips “Would I be wrong in the assumption that this is your first time ever ‘staying the night’ with someone before?”

MJ looks at him straight faced and unamused. “Virginity is a construct, Ned” 

Peter’s eyes snap to hers at the use of the word, irrefutable evidence that they are in fact talking about what he thought they were talking about. 

“Everything is a construct, MJ” Ned replies with a flowery tone, “Although I never actually said anything about virginity. I’m simply talking about sleeping over in someone’s home. You’re the one that brought up virginity.” 

MJ flattens her expression as if to assess whether or not to let the conversation continue, in the end, Peter thinks her need for their assistance outweighs the amount that she doesn’t want to talk about her sex life. He stays quiet, tries to think of anything decent to say but the tickle is heavy on his chest as he tries to wrap his brain around the topic of MJ’s _ sex life _, a topic it had previously never considered. 

“Fine.” She breathes out shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “If you must know, I’ve...stayed very late with someone before but this will be my first time ever ‘staying the night.’” 

He watches MJ talk and beside him he hears Ned’s teasing response and he wants to join in, wants to say something quippy and utilize this rare moment of MJ needing them to his advantage but the tickle in his chest is turning his brain into jelly. He can’t seem to get past the initial shock of learning that MJ had been _ dating _someone without either of them knowing. That somewhere in some other part of her life, she had friends and people that neither Ned or Peter had ever met. Friends that not only see her as someone who’s interested in dating but, apparently, ones that are interested right back. The thought hangs dully in his head like a sip of warm soda and he tries with no real conviction to turn his attention back to Ned who is in the process of trying to translate the base system into the ‘staying the night’ euphemism much to MJ’s obvious distaste. 

Peter’s eyes trace over her look of tired annoyance and he tries for a second to picture her on a date. His brain supplies him with an image of MJ at a fancy restaurant, smile twitching on her mouth as she talks with perfectly painted lips to the mystery person across from her. Peter inwardly frowns, the scene as out of place to him as a hot chocolate in july.

It’s just that she seems so indifferent towards people, he reationalizes, even he and Ned sometimes, that he figured she wasn’t interested in like ...people. Let alone in dating. Now that he knows she is to other people, a small part of him is worried that maybe she just doesn’t like _ him _that much.

And now she’s talking about ‘spending the night’ with this guy. Doing things that people do when they ‘spend the night’ together and suggesting that she’s done other near ‘spending the night’ activities with other anonymous people and Peter’s brain is jelly. The better angels of his nature are actively trying to shout down the tiny ugly voice in his head that is currently telling him that he should get as much information on this guy as possible to feed to Karen later. That he’s owed, as her friend, at least that much. 

Those better angels are also telling him that he should try to act like he would if Ned were telling him this and not MJ, but everything inside of him is frowning at the fact that MJ has kept this from him--er them-- when they’ve never insinuated that they’d give her a hard time if she wanted to start dating someone. Clearly they would, he thinks as Ned continues his attempt as the base system translation. But still. As her friends they deserve to know. Right? The better angels shout at that too.

“Third base would be staying until 2am but then catching the last train home” Ned muses beside him. Peter tries to focus on something constructive to contribute to this teasing. 

“Does Mystery Man have a name?” Peter surprises himself by asking. 

MJ looks at him for the first time since she shared her news. “No. I call him experiment 69.” She deadpans.

Peter feels his brain solidifying again. This sounds way more like the MJ he knows. The MJ he knows how to respond to. 

“Is that what I should call him when Ned and I meet him?” He offers in retort. He’s still only half in control of what's coming out of his mouth but he meets her look with his eyebrows raised in question to double down on it. 

MJ’s frown returns. “Why would either of you two need meet him?”

And why would they? The better angels chime in again as the rational part of Peter scrambles to regain control of his mouth. He knows the answer is they really _ don't _ need to meet him. MJ is allowed to have relationships, both platonic and romantic, that he, as a friend, doesn't know about. The rational part of Peter knows this, but before he can articulate any of that, his monkey brain says, “We let you meet our significant others when _ we _ have them.” 

“I mean yeah it’s kind of hard not to meet your right hand when it’s right in front of me, Parker” MJ says without missing a beat

“I’ve had other SOs!” Peter says, returning her frown.

MJ’s eyebrows raise, “Don’t think we’re not going to talk about the fact that you just said ‘_ other _ SOs’” She says and the ends of her lips raise up in a small smile, “But I do think it’s a bit different than your ‘SOs’ considering they all go to this school and we all already knew each other before you guys started doing whatever it is you did.” She gestures vaguely at his body as if to suggest that he ‘spent the night’ with them. 

Peter doesn’t correct her. 

“So he doesn’t go here?” Peter can’t help but ask even as the better angels throw a fit in his head. 

MJ’s shoulder’s slump as she looks at Peter with the same tired eyes she’d been giving Ned before. “He doesn’t go here anymore. He’s graduated.” 

Peter widens his eyes in fake shock to mask his real curiosity. “A college boy…” he says wiggling his eyebrows.

“Actually,” MJ shrugs “He’s taking a gap year.” 

Peter purses his lips. “So he’s rich.” he concludes aloud. 

MJ pauses for a second and then tilts her head eyebrows raised, “Guess I'll find out tonight.” she says with a tiny smirk.

“If he can afford to take a gap year then he’s rich.” Peter argues as he grabs another baby carrot. 

MJ rolls her eyes but seems to think better of arguing back. “Regardless, he doesn’t go here and you guys don’t know him, so I don’t think you need to me--”

“MJ you don’t have to introduce ‘experiment 69’ to us if you don’t want to,” Ned cuts her off, miming air quotes around the name. “but you definitely owe us if you want us to cover for you, because your mom is scary and I don’t want to lie to her.” 

MJ turns her attention to him and then looks at them both. “Okay, what do you guys want?” 

And there is an edge of resignation in her voice that Peter has never heard it before. The second he takes to really look at her is all the time in the world he needs to let the better angels win out. Her mouth is turned down slightly in a frown as she bites at her bottom lip and her eyes are almost painfully earnest. He drops his eyes to where she’s almost certainly picking at her nails under the desk and he can feel that tickle in his chest spread through his veins like ice at the thought that she might actually have feelings for this guy she’s seeing. And again the very meta feeling of being uncomfortable with how uncomfortable he is while trying to picture MJ happy with ‘experiment 69’ bubbles up inside him. But there’s also a nice bubble of something good in his chest when picturing MJ happy at all and he tries to draw his response from there. 

“Honestly, I lie all the time anyway.” He stabs at his potatoes with his fork. “Just be safe and have fun” Peter says grudgingly and the voice in his head that sounds remarkably like Karen tells him that it was the right thing to say. And even despite the ice in his veins, he finds he really means it when he sees MJ’s face twitches into a smile. 

“Thank you.” She breathes. “I’ll try!” And just for a moment, Peter can hear the nervousness in her voice.

He flashes back to all the quiet moments where he and Ned had cornered a bun-sporting MJ and given her a hug or practiced flashcards with her or sat with her while they waited for exam results to be posted and he remembers that it’s still MJ. Whether or not he’s her best friend, she’s his and this is something you do for your best friend.

He tries not to think about this side of MJ he never considered could actually exist, a side that's low-key into sex and romance and other things that seemed altogether un-MJ-like and instead focuses on the fact that MJ is letting them see that side right now. Nervous and...vulnerable. It’s a closeness that he never knew he wanted but now that he has it he’s suddenly very afraid to go back to the way it was before. He reminds himself that if MJ didn’t like them she wouldn’t entrust them with this secret. He reminds himself that MJ keeps secrets for him all the time. Big secrets. 

Peter might not understand a lot at the moment, like why he is picturing ‘experiment 69’ to look like the grown up version of his childhood bully; or why something inside of him wants to suddenly make sure that MJ had a solid plan A,B, and C for tonight, or why MJ losing her virginity mattered to him AT ALL, but he did know the fact that she is letting them be apart of her cover means she trusts them a lot, and that means a lot more to him than he'd care to admit.

Glancing up from his half-eaten potatoes he’s confronted with Ned’s annoyed look. 

“What?” he says, mouth full

“I _ don’t _ lie all the time...” Ned turns back to MJ, “and I would like payment in the form of a pizza sent to my home this evening at 7pm with pepperoni and pineapple, please.” 

“Deal.” MJ says without a beat passing and heaves a heavy sigh. “Now that all that’s settled,” She pulls a book out of her backpack, “if you’ll excuse me...” and she disappears behind it. 

It takes Peter a second to stop looking at her eyes following the words in front of her. He doesn’t know why. 


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. 
> 
> Truly appreciate all the comments from the first chapter. I would have responded if I could think of any way to do that without spoiling this chapter. This one brings some plot so :)
> 
> Note: The first chapter's length was a fluke. All the rest will be LONG. This is around 6.4k and most will be around the same. That's just the best way to break up the story. 
> 
> PLEASE READ:  
Warning for discussions and depictions of white supremacy. I do not want to traumatize my readers and for that reason I try very hard to keep these scenes informative but not graphic. That said, take care of yourself. If you're not sure you can handle it or need to not read it before bed (very me energy) then please do that! 
> 
> All that said, I hope you enjoy. Chat to me in the comments, I promise this time I'll respond, or on tumblr at spiders-n.

**II.**

** _Friday, August 25th. 9:42 p.m. _ **

That night, after Peter has helped a sweet old lady bring her groceries into her apartment, rescued a cat who got trapped in a tree, aided a very pregnant woman in getting out of her lawn chair, and stopped a bodega robbery, he settles himself on a rooftop to take a break. 

“Karen, do I have any notifications?” 

“You have three notifications: a text message from May and two WhatsApp messages. One is from Ned and the other is from MJ. Would you like for me to display them for you?” 

“Yeah, throw them up. May’s first.” 

The display through his view finders shifts out of patrol mode as the screen of his phone his displayed through them. 

_May_ 💃🏻💫👠:_ I’m gonna pick up an extra shift at the hospital tonight. Ned and MJ are still welcome to spend the night if they’d like. There is ice cream in the freezer and money for take-out if you can’t find anything you want in the fridge. Have fun! _

Peter smiles at the message and then his mind immediately shifts to MJ and what she’d likely be doing at the moment. 

“Pull up Ned’s message,” he says to distract himself.

The display shifts once more from his text messages to his WhatsApp conversation with Ned. The new message is accompanied by a picture of a pepperoni and pineapple pizza. 

_Ned _🤖🌌🔭: _I guess she’s serious about this Experiment 69 guy. _

Peter rolls his eyes and pointedly does not respond. It’s like he can’t escape her. His mind keeps supplying him with MJ-related things. 

“Switch to MJ’s,” He says without thinking

MJ’s messages are in front of his face before he can blink. At the bottom of the screen is a little window into a map with a pin labeled “MJ” at the center.

_MJ _👩🏽📚🔪: _This is where I am in case of emergency. I wanted to make sure someone knew. If you use it for non-emergencies, you will meet your messy end, Parker. _

Peter eyes the message for a long moment, tempted to open the map and see how far away it is from him. He knows he shouldn’t. Knows that knowing where she is will just make him want to go. But she did entrust him with her safety, and he should probably take that seriously and look.

He groans and throws his head back dramatically before speaking. 

“Open MJ’s location,” he commands.

His viewfinders pull up the map in the lower right-hand corner of his vision and his eyebrows pull down in a frown. 

_ Staten Island? Who the fuck goes to Staten Island to get laid? _He says to himself, trying hard to fight the urge to text Ned this new piece of background he has on this mystery man. 

“Karen, scan this address and map the nearest route to it from my location. Keep it updated for the rest of the night,” he instructs under his breath. 

“Peter, Ms. Jones is not going to be pleased if you crash her date this evening. I suggest you leave her alone,” Karen warns, her voice reminding him too much of Aunt May. 

“I’m not going to bother her. I just...want to make sure I can get there quickly. You know… just in case.” 

“Just in case. Right. I’m all over it. Let me know if you need me to display your web pattern to Ms. Jones’ location,” Karen says to him. 

“Thank you.” He draws his attention back to the block of homes below him, quieting as the clock ticks closer to 10 p.m. and the neighborhood’s occupants settle in for the evening. He thinks distantly that Friday nights should probably be more exciting than this, and he knows that he could probably swing to Ned’s and do something there. But he can’t seem to force himself up. In the relative darkness of the rooftop and the quiet hum of the night, he has a hard time not thinking about MJ and Experiment 69. His mind lingers on the numbers for too long and, after he actively feels like a creep, he tries to think of anything else.

The thing is, he knows that MJ being on a date is not a big deal. Rationally, he knows that. Even if she is having sex, it’s not like that’s all that weird. Dates are normal. He’s been on dates. Sex is normal. He’s... almost had sex. There is no reason why MJ having sex should be taking up so much space in his mind and yet — . 

It is. 

It bothers him. In a way that he knows it absolutely shouldn’t. He could lie to himself and say that it’s because he doesn’t know this guy and doesn't trust him, but he knows MJ well enough to know: She’s not doing this for any reason other than actually wanting to. And if she wants to, there is no reason to mistrust him. MJ is a good judge of character, he knows that. If he’s being completely and totally honest, the reason it bothers him so fucking much is that… well, if he'd known that MJ was at all interested in the whole like, romance scene, he might have been interested in getting in on the ground floor of that expedition. 

And as soon as he lets himself think that, he’s on his feet faster than he thinks he’s ever been. 

“Karen, find me some trouble to get into,” he says as he swings off his rooftop. 

_MJ is a friend and her happiness is more important than whatever the fuck that train of thought had in store for me_, he lectures himself. 

“What kind of trouble?” Karen cuts into his thoughts. 

“The distracting kind of trouble,” he heaves out as he lands with a thud on the side of an apartment complex. 

“There is a gentleman who appears to be intoxicated and is harassing women as they pass by about three blocks away. Wanna go bother him?” she asks.

He smiles under his mask. “Display web pattern to his location.” 

The thing about Peter’s senses being dialed up to 11 is that his brain, as far as he knows, wasn’t affected when he was bitten. So when his senses send it all the information they’re picking up, his brain usually doesn’t register the totality of it right away. What ends up happening is something like this: Peter’s senses feed his brain a blast of information all at once and his brain processes and stores that information somewhere — somewhere that he has no access to until or unless any of it becomes particularly relevant. Like he somehow memorizes all of the stuff he’s taking in, without trying to or even realizing it. Until he needs the information. He’s got a really incredible memory — he’s been like that since before the bite. He’s pretty sure the only reason it seems so much better now is because, metaphorically speaking, there is more data in the databank. 

Sometimes, he’ll be taking a test and just know without a shadow of a doubt that the answer is B, even though he’ll have no distinct memory of studying anything the question is talking about. Needless to say, it’s made school a bit easier for him than the rest of his classmates. But given that he’s taken up superheroing as an elective, Tony and May both assure him that he’s not doing anything wrong. Every once in a while, it’ll happen outside of school, too. He’ll be in the middle webbing someone up and he’ll swing out of the way just in time to miss a bullet, or he’ll be messing around in the lab and get the overwhelming urge to add something wild to his solution, because he just knows that it’ll make it better. 

Or he’ll be in the middle of swinging over to harass a misogynist to distract himself from the fact that his best friend is most likely in the process of “spending the night” with some random idiot from Staten Island, when he gets distracted by a mass of people flooding onto the street from an old rundown building — and something in him tells him he needs to go investigate it. 

He gives into his instinct and changes direction mid-swing to drop on to the rooftop of a building adjacent to the one that people — men, Peter corrects himself — are pouring out of. The first big thing he notices is that they’re carrying torches and signs, though he’s not close enough to make out what any of them say. This automatically makes him feel a little bit uneasy, because he can’t exactly remember anytime he’s seen a group of men with torches and signs marching through the street and found that it was for some great, benevolent cause. 

“Karen, what am I looking at?” he asks quietly, studying the crowd of people as they organize into some formation. It’s orderly and neat, like they’d practiced. His stomach twists and he’s not sure why, other than the obvious. 

“I’m not sure. It appears to be the beginning of some sort of demonstration, though I’m not finding anything about a demonstration or rally taking place in Queens this evening from any local news or social media,” Karen says. “Would you like me to engage in further reconnaissance?” 

Peter looks down where the crowd is now almost completely divided into three columns of three. “Yeah, send droney.” 

The robotic spider embedded in his suit detaches itself and heads down to fly closer to the group of people, feeding Peter it’s audio/visual recordings as it lands on the side of the building people are pouring out of. The audio is strangely quiet and that’s when it strikes Peter: This is a group of what has to be at least 200 people and they’re almost completely silent, save for the people who seem to be in a sort of leadership position and are arranging them in their weirdly specific, three-columned order. They move around each other in a quiet, rehearsed-looking shuffle as they settle into their places in the line-up. 

The lack of sound among so many people would be jarring enough on its own, but the image the spider’s make-believe eyes feed into Peter’s display is what catches him most off-guard. Lined up in their no-doubt very purposeful order, every third person in line holds either a flag, a sign, or a torch. They’re facing forward, eyes fixed ahead, expressions blank. All of their arms are wrapped tightly in a band Peter doesn’t recognize. It’s a simple design: The band is red featuring a white circle with a thin black line across it. He does however, recognize the symbols plastered all over the signs and flags they’re carrying. 

Swatsakas. Lots of them. With the occasional confederate flag and iron cross thrown in for good measure as well. 

“Jesus,” Peter breathes out when the reality of what he’s looking at hits him. 

It’s a fucking neo-nazi rally or something, he’s not completely sure, but his gut twists into a knot as he takes in the full picture below him. _ They’re so organized. _ It’s perhaps the scariest thing about the whole situation really. They’re so obviously prepared for what they’re doing — or about to do — that for a full minute, Peter is stuck in place by the implication of it. _ They’ve been practicing. _They’ve been planning whatever’s about to happen for a long time, he can see it in the way they’re acting, in the meticulous patterns they’ve arranged their entourage into. This is not some ragtag group of internet trolls who have come together to scare people. This is a carefully crafted group of people. It’s a — he swallows when he notices the guns — an armed militia.

“Karen, do we know what the symbol they’re all wearing is?” he croaks out. He tries to pull himself into Spider-Man mode again. 

“It isn’t coming up in any of the databases I've checked it against,” she informs him. 

“So, it’s a new group,” Peter says matter-of-factly. 

“Most likely.” 

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, the mass of people below him start speakinging in unison. It’s a loud, almost monotone chant of the same five words over and over again. 

“_ You will not replace us.” _

The crowd starts moving forward in a quick, and measured pace, each line from each of the three columns falling into step behind the other until they’re all moving, still chanting, into the big block of homes and apartments that lie in front of them. It takes Peter a moment to remember they’re still in a relatively residential area of Queens, which is a distinctly unusual place for any group to rally for anything. It only takes a moment for the people in and around the surrounding homes to stop and take notice of them, caught so far off-guard by their presence that Peter can see a number of people visibly do a double-take. The group of people— the militia — splits off into three directions, walking in their march to different parts of the neighborhood. 

The barrage of feet pounding against the street, combined with the volume of their chant, is such a juxtaposition to the eerie quiet that surrounded them as they prepared that it somehow makes them seem more disruptive. Peter isn’t sure what to do. He stays momentarily rooted to his spot on the roof, watching the scene play out in front of him. The longer they go on, the more people he can see hanging out of windows and standing on doorsteps to their houses: confused, afraid, and more than a few, very angry. 

“Peter, I’m getting reports of similar incidents in several residential areas throughout the United States.” Karen’s voice scares him out of his stupor. And then he processes the information. His gut constricts as she gives voice to his initial thought. “I think this might be a bit bigger than we realized.”

“Oh my god. Has anything —” He pauses, his mind running wild with all of what could be happening. “Is this gonna get violent?” He didn't realize, but somewhere in the back of his mind he was already strategizing ways to handle this. To keep people safe and — the thought runs through him like an electric current — to punch some fucking Nazis. 

“I don’t think so,” she answers him calmly. "Social media is being flooded with information about other incidents so my intelligence on the matter is constantly updating. There do not appear to be any reports of the protesters inciting violence. I do have a hit on the symbol they’re wearing, though,” Karen continues. “I was able to trace the image to a number of recently created social media accounts belonging to a group called ‘The Three Knights.’ They have published a manifesto of sorts which outlines aims to ‘take back the country from those who have stolen it.’ They call themselves a ‘peaceful group of protesters.’”

Peter is a cross between unbelievably scared and unthinkably angry that this is happening. “For fuck’s sake,” Peter huffs out. “Why do they have assault rifles if they’re a peaceful group of protesters?” 

“It doesn’t seem in keeping with their stated ideals,” Karen agrees. 

“What should I do?” Peter asks before he can help himself. 

“I don’t know. As far as I can see, everything they’re doing is perfectly legal. I don’t think it’s advisable to involve yourself in this situation, Peter.” Karen’s voice is a warning. 

Peter watches for a second longer while a number of people disappear behind locked doors and pulled shutters before speaking again. “This is fucking terrifying,” he says because he just can’t keep it in. He finally lets himself feel the full weight of how unnerving it is to hear their chant. He’s not positive but he can surmise who the “you” they’re referring to is. “I have to do something, Karen. These people are —” He gestures down at the street as they march, trying to find words strong enough to convey how horrible what he’s witnessing is. “They’re just doing this to scare people in their own homes,” he finishes weakly.

“I know, Pete, but I don’t see how getting involved will make anybody any safer.” 

Peter groans loudly. “So I should just what? Leave?!” He asks exasperated. 

And then, like he somehow heard Peter’s annoyed distressed question, Peter gets an alert in his display. _ Incoming call from: Tony Stark. _He huffs out before accepting it. 

“Pete I need you to go home right now.” Tony says as soon as the line connects. His voice is tense. 

“Mr. Stark—” Peter starts before he’s cut off. 

“No arguing. I don’t care what their manifesto says. They’re carrying assault rifles and waving swastikas. As far as I'm concerned they’re a terrorist organization. Friday tells me the police are a minute out from where this is happening in Queens. I don't think it's going to be very peaceful once they arrive and I don’t want you there when that happens.” 

Peter wants to argue, but he knows it’s no use. There is nothing he’s going to be able to do that won’t get in the way of professionals doing their job. But he’s so fucking angry — as he shoves himself onto his feet to walk across the roof he’s been crouched on — that he momentarily considers doing something crazy, like hanging up and disconnecting his phone feature from the suit. But his rational brain knows he’s got no game plan for what comes after that scenario, so he lets it rest. 

“Fine. I’m going back to May’s,” he says into the phone, Karen already displaying a web pattern to his apartment. 

“Nope. She’s working all night and I'm not letting you stay by yourself. Come to the apartment in Manhattan. Pepper’s there now and I'm flying in from the compound.” 

“Manh—” He cuts himself off this time, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Tony, I promise I won’t do anything stupid tonight. You don’t need to babysit me.” Peter complains through a scowl. 

“This is not up for discussion. You can be grumpy and throw a fit from the safety of the apartment,” he says with a finality to it that Peter has only ever heard once before. Given that he’d lost his suit that time, Peter figures he should probably listen this time around. 

“Okay. Whatever. I’m on my way now,” he concedes, but not without a bit of teenage exasperation as he hangs up. The web pattern in his display shifts and he takes off before anything else can happen.

** _Saturday August 28th, 9:41 a.m. _ **

Peter wakes up the next morning with a dull headache and the simmering anger he’d fallen sleep with. He can hear someone — Tony from the sound of it — in the kitchen banging around pots and pans like they have no idea what to do with them. Peter registers that Tony is probably trying to make Peter breakfast to apologize for the loud disagreement they’d gotten into when he arrived at the Manhattan apartment the night before. 

The previous evening’s horrors flood back to him like a bad trip as he tries and fails to access the full picture of what his constantly overactive senses fed him in the 20 minutes he’d borne witness to the demonstration of The Three Knights. He feels an edge of something like indignation when we remembers the argument he and Tony had stumbled into when he’d landed on the balcony. It was undoubtedly the result of his pent up anger which, at that point, he’d been quietly stewing over for the entire 35 minutes it took him to swing to Tony and Pepper’s place. 

Looking back, Peter realizes it was his own fault. He was mad and confused and more scared than he wanted to admit. Tony had come at him with all sorts of reason and logic, and other bullshit he was in no mood to be lectured about. So, he picked a fight. He was about two solid minutes into ranting about his “responsibility as Spider-Man to protect the community during its most vulnerable moments,” pointedly ignoring and, more than once, outright talking over, Tony’s increasingly less patient interruptions of “kid” and “Pete, will you listen to me” before Tony finally snapped. And then it was just yelling from both sides, louder so the other could hear over their own talking points. 

Peter thinks — he’s not sure because again, he’d been yelling pretty loudly himself —but he _ thinks _that Tony may have been trying to make some point about Peter’s safety in a showdown between 200 protesters with assault rifles and the police. In the cold hard light of the morning, Peter can see a certain validity to the man’s argument. But as it was the night before, anything that tore him away from Queens when it was being invaded by neo-nazi’s was interfering with his Spider-Man duties and therefore oppressive. He’d voiced that point of view very completely before storming off into the guest bedroom and ignoring all of the insistent knocks that followed his retreat. 

He should apologize. He’s going to, really, but he just needs a couple more minutes to lick his wounds and wrap his brain around everything before he’s ready to face anyone, even if it’s just Tony and Pepper. 

When he checks his phone, he has 87 new notifications which — okay, he probably should have looked into what was going on in the outside world a bit more before he’d gone to sleep, but he was honestly too afraid of what he’d find. 

What he finds now is this: he has 38 WhatsApp notifications from several different group chats including his AcaDec one, his Avengers one, and the one where he, Ned, and MJ communicate outside of AcaDec which Peter cleverly titled “BiBiBi.” There are seven different News notifications from various publications talking about the reported several demonstrations staged throughout the United States the night before as well as the different responses they were met with. He has a lot of emails too, like almost 30 unread ones that all seem to be about the demonstration. Other than that, the remainder of the notifications are from a smattering of social media apps that he can only assume are flooded with personal accounts of the incident. He opens WhatsApp first, because that one seems like the easiest to dive into. 

AcaDec’s group chat is easy to skim through, mostly just people checking in with everyone to make sure they’re all okay. The Avengers one is a bit more meaty. Captain Rogers spends two full paragraphs talking about how dangerous the demonstrations are and how awful the situation is, but he wouldn't be him if he didn't immediately follow up his rant with a call to action. Looks like he and a number of other Avengers (Sam, Nat, Wanda) are doing some digging into the organization and who's funding it. _ Good, _Peter thinks. He's interested to see what they can figure out. He's glad he's not the only one in the group who wants to do something about the whole thing. He didn't really think he was but after his argument with Tony everything feels a bit off kilter. 

He turns his attention to the BiBiBi group chat, where the majority of his unread messages are. 

_MJ _👩🏽📚🔪: um guys? 

_MJ _👩🏽📚🔪: is anyone else getting these notifications from politico? 

There's a screenshot of a Politico news notification that reads “White nationalist group The Three Knights holds rallies across the U.S.”

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ I just got one from CNN. This is fucking crazy. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ i think i'm gonna be sick to my stomach watching this live feed. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ i've literally walked down that street so many times. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ this is so scary. _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ Yeah. _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ Abe and his parents live on that street. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ i already called him. they’re okay. locked themselves inside the basement for the night. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ how that's okay in any way, shape, or form is beyond me but that's what he said so… _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ My mom and dad just came to check on me. They want me to make sure you guys are fine. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ i'm not in queens so I'm safe — just mad and scared. _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ Good. Also, I know this is not like, even remotely important right now but — did you at least have a nice date before everything happened? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ :) it's sweet of you to ask. It went well but then neo-nazis started marching through every other brown neighborhood in america before anything could happen, so I guess my virginity lives to see another day. _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ I thought virginity was a construct? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _ shut up. I take it you’re safe if you’re checking on us? _

_ Ned _ 🤖🌌🔭: _ I am. What about you Peter? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: ... _ Peter? _

When Peter finishes reading the conversation, he immediately goes to type out his answer, but he pauses, not entirely sure what he should say. He could give them the whole story now, lay out exactly what he saw and what happened afterwards. He kinda wants to, if only for the validation of their agreement with his argument, but it's a lot to type and he doesn't want to freak them out. Instead he types out a quick, “Hey guys, I'm fine. In Manhattan with Tony and Pepper. I saw everything. I'll explain later.” 

Peter hears the sound of the message being sent off as he clicks on one of the news notifications — the same one from Politico that MJ had posted in the group chat — about the demonstration. The article lays out the details of the incident in plain language: a new white nationalist organization that calls themselves The Three Knights, staged a number of demonstrations in several neighborhoods across the country. That much Peter already knew, but it goes on to say that almost all of the neighborhoods chosen for the demonstration have a high population of South American, Central American, and African immigrants, which he did not already know. The article takes special care to address the symbols and imagery presented by the protesters, as well as the implications of their five-word chant, which was apparently used at all of the demonstrations, country-wide. 

He finishes the article in a hazy blur, every new piece of information adding to the whirlwind of unidentifiable unease in his brain as he tries to process all the moving parts. It hurts his already aching head. 

Before he has a chance to do anything about it, a soft knock sounds at his door and he knows it’s Tony, though he’s not sure how. 

“It’s unlocked,” he says, voice hoarse from all the yelling he’d done the night before. 

“All the doors in the apartment are unlocked for me, kid. I'm knocking because I’m asking if it’s okay to come in.” Tony’s voice is muffled from the other side of the door. 

Peter feels his lips tug at the corners. He knows he was wrong to have acted the way he did last night. Tony was, as always, just looking out for Peter’s best interests — something that not many people do for him. The only reason they’d even fought was because he hadn't let Tony’s attempts to calm him down interrupt his angry ranting. He would've done the same to May, too, if she’d been the one to call him home. Tony was just the closest person with a differing opinion that he could take his anger out on. And now that he’s slept on it and obtained some more information about the incident, he’s not even sure they have differing opinions. Basically he’s been behaving like the kid he’s trying so desperately to no longer be seen as. And now he’s gotta eat crow and admit it, he’s gotta apologize. 

And it’s 10x worse that it’s Tony he has to apologize to because Tony won't try to make him feel any worse when he does. Tony is the kind of stupidly supportive person that would never make Peter feel bad about a mistake, as long as he takes responsibility for it. Knowing him, he probably still feels bad about yelling back at Peter. And that only makes Peter feel worse about the whole thing. 

That's the thing about people that love you, they care about your feelings even when it’s illogical to. It wasn't Tony’s fault at all that they were at odds this morning, but he’s still gonna give Peter the opportunity to demand more space if that's what he really wants. He’d be choked up about it all if he wasn't still reeling about the fact that neo-nazis had marched all throughout the U.S. barely 12 hours ago. 

“You can come in,” Peter sighs out. 

The door to the room opens slowly to reveal Tony’s somewhat hesitant expression. He walks in carefully and perches on the edge of the desk that rests by the door, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankle in a way that's somehow both Dad as fuck and Tony Stark™️ as fuck. 

Peter doesn't give him the chance to say whatever's on the tip of his tongue. “You were right,” he starts. 

Tony smiles. “I agree,” he says, confidently. Then he furrows his brow. “About what?” 

Peter shrugs. “About the whole thing. About wanting to pull me out. I probably would have done something stupid and made it worse.” 

Tony’s look softens and he nods. “Yeah, bud, I know.” Then he seems to consider something, eyebrows raising, small smile sliding over his face. “It would be pretty badass for a second though,” he admits quietly. 

Peter smiles back at him. “It would feel really good.” He mimes a slo-mo punch. “I’d get to just… punch a nazi. Right in the face.” He looks wistfully back up at Tony. 

“Cap might try and recruit you,” Tony warns and Peter can’t help the snort he lets out before rolling his eyes. 

He meets Tony’s gaze and says what he knows he should. “I’m sorry I was so dumb and disrespectful last night.” 

Tony shrugs. “Pete, you’re a kid. You acted like any kid acts when they’re told they can’t do something, but they think they should be able to do it anyway.” He looks at Peter with a serious expression. “But you’re also a superhero, so the stakes are a bit higher than they normally are for these kinds of…” He gestures around looking for the right word. “I don’t know… was that even an argument?” He looks at Peter in question before waving it off. “Anyway, the point is: You’re probably gonna run into a couple more situations like this in the future.” 

“You think I’m going to accidentally stumble across a neo-nazi demonstration a couple more times in the future?” Peter asks, grinning. 

Tony looks at him tiredly. “I think you’re going to run into a couple more situations with similar stakes. High stakes,” he clarifies. "And you’re probably going to want to do something about it, like you did last night. But that’s not always going to be the smartest decision. Take it from me: Sometimes, you’re not serving anyone by fighting the bad guy.” 

Peter feels his frown deepen the longer he listens. “Okay. I know that last night I shouldn’t have done anything, because I probably would have started a fight and put a lot of people in danger. But generally, isn’t that what superheros do? Fight bad guys?” 

Tony looks at him blankly for a second before his eyes fall shut, chest heaving in a heavy sigh. “Be honest with me kid. Do May and Pepper ever get the hard questions, or do you just enjoy putting me on the spot and then watching me scramble?” He opens his eyes and gives Peter a look that’s half-annoyed, half-fond. 

“After my parents died, I got really obsessed with the concept of the afterlife and asked May, an atheist, what heaven and hell are really like. I was seven.” Peter purses and lips in thought and then continues. “The other day I got curious and asked Pepper to explain the housing bubble of the early 2000s to me. Over text. In the middle of the work day.” When he looks back at Tony, his expression is sober. 

“So May gets existentialism, Pepper gets adult prep, and I get superhero ethics?” Tony deadpans.

“That’s about the size of it.” 

Tony sighs again. “Okay, kid.” He brings his hand up to run through his beard, eyes unfocused in thought. It takes him a moment but eventually he continues. “Okay.” He brings his gaze to Peter’s again. “I'll be honest with you. I don’t think there is any one thing that _ all _ superheroes do. Different heroes have different objectives. It’s a personal choice, Pete. You have to decide what Spider-Man’s job is and try and do that. So far, I don’t think Spider-Man’s job has been fighting bad guys — although when you’ve had to do that, you’ve admittedly done a good job. But that’s not, at least in my view, ever been your main focus.” He pauses and then seems to realign his thoughts. “I think you care about people, right?” He looks a Peter expectantly. 

“Of course, Tony. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t.” He replies a little annoyed. He’s not entirely sure he knows where this is going. 

“Right,” Tony picks up right where he left off. “Of course you do. And I think your job so far has been much more about protecting your community than anything else. You’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. You help people, Pete. That’s your job. Sometimes, that means fighting bad guys, but not always.” 

Peter nods in agreement, eyes moving to the floor as he considers the reason he’d decided to do what he does. Tony’s voice sounds above him again and it’s quiet but serious. “I could give you some bullshit about the right path being one thing or the other. But really, it won’t help you. It’s your job to figure out what you’re out there for. What I can tell you is this: When disaster strikes and you’re in the middle of the mess, you have a really important choice to make that no one else can make for you. You have to decide if you want to be the helper or the hero. I don’t think either is the wrong choice, but it’s a really hard one to make. And if you don’t know what your job as a superhero is, it’s an impossible one to make.” 

Peter thinks about that. It’s true: He has always prioritized helping people as Spider-Man. He’d spent most of last night helping people before he’d actually gotten to stop any crime. And he enjoyed that first part of the night as much as the last part — right up until the demonstration. But he can’t imagine another scenario where he encounters someone as obviously horrible as the protesters from last night and doesn’t fight them. 

“I think I agree. But you know, I’ve never not fought a bad guy if there was a bad guy I could fight. Maybe it’s my job to do both,” Peter says, reflectively. 

Tony just smiles. “I hate that I'm pulling out the most annoying phrase any adult can utter in teenager’s direction but: You’ll see when you get older, Pete.” He pauses a second and then crosses his arms over his chest. “At some point, you’ll figure out what kind of person you want to be. It’ll be this big moment that you won’t even think is a big moment until it’s over and then you’ll think, ‘Wow, that changed my life.’ And then you’ll call me and be like, ‘Tony you were right’ and I’ll say, ‘I agree,’ like I always do. It’ll be good.” He laughs at Peter’s obnoxious eye roll, fiddling around in his pocket to pull out a set of keys. “I’m being honest here, kid.”

“I know you are, Tony,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “Hopefully I don't need to be much older before I get my a-ha moment.” 

“It’ll happen when it happens.” Tony assures him. “But until then we have the Baby Monitor Protocol so you can’t do anything too irrevocably stupid.” 

“Like picking a fight with a bunch of armed neo-nazis?” Peter asks

“Or accidentally splitting a ferry in half,” Tony jokes. 

“Are we still on that? Haven’t I done enough good to erase that from the things you get to tease me about?” Peter groans, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. 

“Nope,” Tony answers him confidently. “The rule is that I have to make fun of you as much as I brag about you to other people. Now that I have the ‘my kid is an honor student at Midtown High’ bumper sticker, nothing is off-limits in terms of teasing. It’s called balance, kid. It’s the only way to master the power of the Force. Speaking of which —” He throws the keys to Peter where he’s still laying flat on his back. “Let’s go get breakfast. I was gonna make you an apology omelette, but Pepper said that it’s not a real apology if I end up poisoning you.” 

Peter’s hand reaches up to snatch them out of the air, almost without his permission and he sits up looking at Tony excitedly. “Why are you giving me the keys?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. 

Tony looks at him with a glint of something in his eyes. “Because you’re driving us there.” 

Peter’s eyes go wide. “In Manhattan? Is that even remotely advisable?”

“Nope. But let’s do it anyway. It’s good to do normal 16-year-old stuff when Spider-Man stuff is crazy,” Tony responds, standing up from his perch on the desk. Put on some real clothes —” Tony gestures to Peter’s PJ’s. “And meet me in the garage in 10 minutes, okay?” 

Peter jumps up and rushes over to the closet. “Okay!”


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> Sorry for updating a couple hours past midnight. I have been trying to get each chapter up every Saturday until the story is finished but I didn't get the chance to do my final read through and edits of this one until I got home from work which was, unfortunately, very late. 
> 
> I love this chapter a lot but it was m i s e r a b l e to write. You'll see why. 
> 
> As always, come bother me on Tumblr all I want to do is talk about this story! Comments are needed to sustain my life. 
> 
> Tumblr: Spiders-n

**III.**

** _Saturday, October 26th, 7:06pm _ **

Peter swings tiredly through the last little stretch of buildings before coming up on his own. He slows to a stop, landing softly outside his open window and pauses to take a breath before starting to climb through it. It takes a moment for his senses to warn him he’s not alone.

Peter freezes, looking into his room for any sign of danger when he makes eye contact with MJ where she’s sitting on his bed. He heaves a sigh of relief before he notices the deep scowl that her features are pulled into. _ That can't be good. _

“Um... Hi?” He says tentatively, sliding his second leg into the room from the window. It’s not unusual for MJ and/or Ned to be in his room waiting for him when he gets off of patrol, especially on a weekend, but both of them seemed busy when Peter asked about studying together earlier in the day so he wasn’t expecting to see them tonight either. Judging by the pile of textbooks and notebooks that are spread around her on his bed, she’d decided to do school work here after all. 

“What happens to the criminals you stop?” She asks, not even pretending to care about the pleasantries. 

“What?” Peter frowns at her from behind his mask as he pushes the window down and pulls the blinds. He ambles further into the room and peeks out the door to see if May’s home.

She isn’t. 

“What happens to the people that you leave webbed up after you stop a crime?” Her voice is insistent and something in Peter’s head tells him that he might of been better off not climbing through the window just now. 

He pulls off his mask and fixes MJ with a confused look. “I have Karen call the police and then I leave,” he says simply.

Her lips purse. “That’s what I thought,” She mumbles almost to herself before meeting his confused look. “I can’t be one of your ‘men in the chair’ anymore, Peter. I’m sorry,” she says calmly. 

Peter’s confusion deepens. “What? Why not?” 

“I don’t agree with your methods,” She says plainly. 

“My methods?” 

“Your methods.” She nods. 

“MJ...” Peter starts and he can hear the tired annoyance in his voice but he’s not sure how to remove it. He just wants to go to bed but he can tell MJ is in one of her moods. 

“Peter...” MJ responds, mimicking his tone, still calm in a way that eats away at Peter when it’s focused on him. She was like this when she confronted him about being Spider-Man and lying to her. 

“What’s going on? Did I do something?” He asks, carefully.

“You didn’t do anything in particular. I just don’t want to be a part of team Spider-Man anymore.” Her voice is even but Peter can tell she’s holding back. A flood of anger washes over him. He’s too tired to successfully navigate away from whatever this is about to be. 

“Because of my methods.” 

“Yeah.” 

“_What_ methods?” Peter questions, his voice barely hiding his annoyance. 

“The ‘web first, call authorities second, and ask questions never’ process that is apparently your modus operandi,” she deadpans.

Peter’s eyes involuntarily roll. “First of all, we get it, you're in AP English.” He settles his hand on the spider emblem on his chest to loosen his suit. “Second of all, what else am I supposed to do if stopping a crime and reporting the criminal is, for some reason, not something you think I should be doing?” he asks pulling his arms out of the suit and letting the top part hang limply around his waist as he rummages through his drawer for a shirt. 

MJ looks like she might lose her eyes, she straining them so hard, as if what she’s about to say is the most obvious thing on earth. “I don't know, maybe talk to them?” She suggests haughtily.

Peter gapes at her incredulously for a full 30 seconds before closing his eyes in a silent prayer for patience.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” And his voice comes out as a forced calm as he turns away from his dresser to face her. “You don't wanna be a part of “Team Spider-Man” anymore because I'm not taking the _ criminals _I catch in the actual act of committing crimes on dinner dates and asking about their fucking childhoods before I let the police do their god damn jobs?”

“It’s _ that _ Peter.” MJ’s points at him accusingly, voice strained now too. “LeT tHeM dO ThEiR gOd DaMn JoBs,” she mimics his deeper voice “What does that even mean?” 

“What do you mean ‘what does that even mean?’” He looks up at her from where he’s angrily tugged a shirt over his head and really, it's the ora of self righteousness radiating off of her as she rolls her eyes that pushes him to redirect. “You know what _ clearly _ there is something going on here that I'm not getting. What am I doing out there that’s _ so horrible _ you don't want to be a part of it?”

Once he shoves his arms through the shirtsleeves and pulls it to cover his torso, he crosses his them over his chest and wordlessly frowns at her. He’s not moving an inch until she explains what the fuck is happening. 

Finally relenting under his glare, MJ takes a deep breath and exhales heavily. “I just stopped to think about the philosophy behind Spider-Man and as much as I applaud your commitment to using your...abilities to protect the community, I’m not sure you’re doing that as much as you might think.” She looks at him seriously for a beat, waiting to see if he’ll respond before she continues, dropping her eyes for a second, and fiddling with the spiral of the notebook in her lap. “I looked at the crime stats for the first six months of the year and incarceration rates have noticeably increased in this area as opposed to others. I don’t know for sure if that’s because of Spider-man but...I mean if you’re calling police everytime you stop someone?” She looks back up at him. “It’s probably at least a part of the reason. I can’t get down with that so… I’m out,” she finishes and then pushes her lips together awkwardly. 

Peter’s frown falls into a look of tired annoyance as she speaks and he tries his very best to force down the angry outburst he feels bubbling inside of his chest. He can sense the looming argument. The exhaustion from a particularly action packed patrol begs him not to engage but there’s something intense burning low in his gut as he tries to grasp what she’s getting at. He’s bothered by her implication. Like for some reason it’s _his_ fault that people are committing crimes.

“Okay.” He starts, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself. “You’re saying you don’t agree with my method of calling the police on criminals?” He asks and even to his own ears, it's not the neutral tone he was aiming for. 

“I don’t agree with your method of being judge, jury, and executioner for every person that you catch stealing a soda from a bodega, Peter,” she says, annoyed. 

“Judge, jury, and exe—MJ are you serious? I’m not—I'm not _ executing _ anybody for stealing a soda? Or at all? Like ever!” He responds, horrified. 

MJ rolls her eyes. “It’s a figure of speech, dweeb. I know you’re not actually killing people. I’m just saying that you’re exercising a lot of power when you stop people as Spider-Man and I'm not comfortable with being a part of that.” 

“MJ all I’m doing is stopping crime when I see it and then letting the authorities handle the rest. What part of that are you uncomfortable with?” He asks, his voice exasperated.

“I’m uncomfortable with the part after all of that where people who did one bad thing one time are relegated to a criminal justice system that’s broken.” She says back, matching his tone. 

Peter crosses his arms again and stares at her disbelievingly “So what? You think I should stop being Spider-Man because because the criminal justice system needs reform?” 

MJ breaks eye contact and looks back down at her notebook heaving a deep sigh. “I didn’t say that,” She says quietly before looking back up at him. “I know why you’re doing it. I get it, Peter. I just— it’s different for me. I don’t have the benefit of distance from the effect it has on the community.” 

Peter’s frown returns. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

MJ looks up at him in a glare. “Peter,” she says, voice irritated.

He throws his shoulders in a shrug “What?” 

She rolls her eyes again and laughs humorlessly. “Do not make me spell this out for you.” 

His frustration wins over the exhaustion and he feels himself start to creep closer and closer to losing his mind. 

“Oh my god, Michelle. What?!” He shouts into the ceiling. Then it occurs to him that he’s an enhanced human being with super strength and the ability to actually hurt somebody if he wants to and, immediately, he’s worried that he’s scared her. He hazards a guilty glance where she’s sitting on the bed. 

It only takes a second to see that he has done quite the opposite. His thinly veiled attempt to keep the conversation civilized seemed to be the only thing keeping MJ from losing her cool as well. As soon as he raises his voice, whatever restraint she’d been employing dissipates as she stands up and crosses her arms, jaw set. 

“Peter, let me ask you this,” She begins in a deadly calm. “Do the majority of the people you stop look more like you or like me?” 

Right away, he knows he should stop. Right away he knows that he doesn't know more about this than she does, that the truth is they look like her. The majority of the people in the neighborhood look more like her than him. She knows that. That isn’t her point. He knows what her point is. Maybe for the first time in the entire argument, he knows what her point is. And he knows, deep down, that it’s valid. But knowing all that doesn’t stop him from arguing further. 

“Okay. Fine. They look more like you. But what am I supposed to do? Sometimes people who look more like you do bad things, MJ. It’s not like i’m trying to seek them out more,” He says, defensively, and then internally winces at how it came out.

MJ’s eyes flash dangerously. “Of course they do. And Spider-Man’s job is to stop the bad things from happening. I just—It has to be more complicated than that, right? But it never is. Because it’s all absolutes with you. It’s all black and white and in the moment with no regard to what happens after you web your happy ass away,” she shouts and then gestures wildly out the window. “But those are _ lives_, Peter. And you’re _ sixteen_. And yeah, you can stop a bus with your bare hands, and that makes your situation kind of special, but I swear to god if there is any kind of organization to your efforts I haven’t seen it. And i’m sure that works for you. I’m sure it’s easy for you to crawl back into your white male privilege and ignore the fallout of aiding a corrupt and broken system, but I can’t do that. I thought I could but—I just can't.” 

Peter has never seen her like this before. She’s so angry that he’s pretty sure he can see actual steam pour out of her ears as she speaks.

“We’re the people those MAGA hats were talking about when they were running around waving swastikas and screaming about being replaced. And I'm not real jazzed about the reality that those horrible people are more enfranchised then the majority of this community. I can't be a part of anything that works in favor of keeping those power structures in place. I have too much to lose. My mom, and my cousins, and friends, and my community are at risk everyday. _ I’m _ at risk everyday, Peter.”

The eye contact between them is fierce for a moment, the fire in her eyes burning into his face and making him feel almost a hot as his own righteous indignation. 

“You think I don't fucking know that, MJ? You think I'm just running around out there because I'm an adrenaline junkie and I love sticking my nose where it doesn't belong?” He shoots back without thinking.

“A little bit, Peter, yeah!” MJ shrugs. 

There’s a pause and their eyes don't leave each other for a long time and the heat between them is palpable. In the stillness, Peter can hear the mingled pounding of two heavy heartbeats. It makes him break first. He looks away, walking back to his chest of drawers to find pants. 

The room is quiet as he lets his Spidey suit fall to the floor and pulls on the pajama bottoms he’d grabbed. He tires not think about the fact that they’re the ones MJ gave him for his birthday. They have little bisexual pride flags all over them. He loves them. A lot. Not just because they're cute and comfortable but because _ she _gave them to him. The idea that he might be losing her stirs something like hot dread in his gut. He chances a glance up at her. She has her back to him, one hand laid flat against the wall the other fisted on her hip. 

“Is that really what you think?” He hears himself ask and he hates how hurt he sounds. He wants to sound angry. He wants to sound outraged at the accusations. But really, he’s just hurt. Because so much of what she said is true. And it hits at all the doubts he’s ever had about himself. All the things that he tries to ignore at the back of his mind. That he’s too young and dumb to take on all the responsibilities of being a superhero. That he’s getting involved in things he doesn’t understand. That he’s not doing it for the right reasons anymore. Suddenly he’s treated to an instant replay of the argument he’d gotten in with Tony the night of The Three Knights demonstration. Peter had been so sure that his wanting to stay in Queens that night and help the neighborhood was valid, but looking back, Tony had more or less highlighted those same reasons Peter should lay low on the whole matter. He doesn’t have any clear outlined objective as Spider-Man, so who’s to say he _ isn’t _ in it because he’s an adrenaline junkie that loves sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

MJ turns at the sound of his voice and looks at him and then tears her gaze up to the ceiling and groans, eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know. It’s possible that I'm worked up and angry and saying things just to hurt you.” A tear slides down her face and she hurriedly swipes it away. “I’m not crying because of you,” She rushes to assure him. “This just happens sometimes when I argue with people.” And then more tears start to fall as she stares determinately up. 

The frustration and anger pours out of her like a fountain and Peter wonders for a moment how long she’s felt like this. How long she's avoided this confrontation. How long he’d given her the impression that he doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. It's been two months since the demonstration, surely she hasn't been sitting on it for that long. 

He thinks about all the things he’d done just in that night as Spider-Man and compares his actions to the criticism being lodged at him. He’d stopped two robberies, one of which was armed. Both perpetrators were racially ambiguous, male, and in their early twenties. The one that was armed was clearly more organized in his attempt, like he’d done it before. The other was an addict in the early stages of withdrawal, Karen had informed him upon his arrival on the scene. He’d done the same thing with both of them: stopped the robbery, webbed them to the wall outside the bodega, called the police to come collect them, and then left before they got there. 

He didn’t think about what would happen after he’d left. 

He didn’t think about them at all. 

And that’s just it, isn't it? That’s MJ’s whole point. In some more abstract way that was Tony’s point too. He didn't think about what would happen after he involves himself because he doesn't have to. Now that he’s forced to, the probability that they’d get the same treatment seems obvious to him. Even though they were obviously nowhere near the same class of criminal. And that matters doesn't it? Peter thinks it must. But when you’re talking about crime it’s so much less clear. It’s not like the bodega owner would be any less robbed by the addict than the other person, but who’s to say that the best way to prevent future robberies is by putting that person in jail. Either of them, really. 

_ Jesus. _

The sudden horrible realization that _ he’d done that _ , that _ he’d _ contributed to, at the very least, a false equivalency between two people that would likely not be treated fairly to begin with, hits him in full force.

MJ was right. She was right to call him out for it and she was right to want to wash her hands of it. And he had no formal plan for how to handle these things. Not with the nuance that they need to be handled with. Distantly he thinks about what Uncle Ben had always told him about power and responsibility and his chest physically aches under his own disappointment in himself. 

_ What’s your job, Peter? _

The question echoes through his head. He’s never considered, not even after everything with the fucking demonstration, that he’s been overly reckless with his ambitions as Spider-Man. Mostly because his intentions are so pure. But are they? Why does he do what he does? _ Is _he sticking to a specific moral code or is he just doing it because it’s kind of fun and not thinking about the rest? He wants to believe that it’s not that. He wants to believe that he’s doing it because he knows that if he sees something wrong and he knows he can stop it, then he has to. But that’s not really a reason to do something. That’s a reason to not do nothing. That something that he does do is, well, up in the air. 

“Oh god,” He utters, horrified, looking at the mask he’d angrily tossed onto his desk earlier with a bad taste in his mouth. MJ’s eyes move from their spot on the ceiling to look at him, hand coming up to wipe her face. 

“I’m such an idiot,” He says more to himself than her. 

Peter’s look meets her’s and he chokes on a mirthless laugh. “You’re right!” He announces. And he has to swallow down the groan of self pity he wants to let out in favor of actually taking responsibility. “I mean, of course you’re right about the privilege thing but you’re right about the other stuff too," he confesses. “I don’t really have any kind of game plan or idea how to handle this. I’m in over my head out there,” he chokes out. It hurts to say. “I didn’t know that until just now, but clearly I’m working with just a little bit of bias here, so...” He tries not to sound bitter and fails.

MJ shuffles in the silence that briefly falls between them. “I didn’t mean to say that. You’re—obviously you’re very good at catching bad guys. I just think that we should work on what you do once you catch them,” she says softly, like she’s trying to be apologetic even though she’s still defending her point.

“But you were right. I don't know what to do differently. It's not like I can just look the other way while people get hurt when I know there's something I can do to help, but where’s the line? Am I just being an asshole by thinking that I have to help if I can? I mean...I never thought twice about it but maybe I should just leave well enough alone. When am I hurting more than helping?” His voice is getting more frantic as he continues, and he knows, he can hear it happening but he’s helpless to stop it, the enormity of his oversight consuming the last of his confidence in his argument. MJ cuts off his thought spiral. 

“I think the first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. So let’s just start there. We can figure it out piece by piece,” MJ assures him, even through her tear soaked face. 

He eyes her for a moment. Even blotchy from tears, her look of fierce determination makes him feel like maybe all isn't lost. There’s a softness in her words that he almost never hears from her and the dread from before starts to melt into something less horrible, but just as intense. “We?” he asks tentatively. 

She looks down at her hands and picks at her nails, “Well, you and Mr. Stark and probably Ms. Potts too because she’ll have more contacts and...I could help,” She says glancing up at him. Then she seems to think better of how she’s presenting herself and straightens up. “I— I have some ideas.” 

Peter draws his eyebrows down, lips pursing. “I thought you wanted out?” 

MJ shrugs. “I lied.” 

“You lied?” He raises his eyebrows.

“What I really want is for you to change your methods. But I kinda just thought that if I openly criticized you about something as important to you as Spider-Man, you wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore, so I just decided to like...do it before you could,” She admits. 

_ Ouch. _He thinks to himself. What other horrible characteristics has he given her the impression he has? 

“I think maybe that says more about me than it says about you,” she says, almost like she can read his thoughts. She looks at him in the eye again. “I should have given you more credit and I’m sorry that I didn’t.” She chews her lip for a moment and then continues. “For the record I like being your friend and your ‘guy in the chair’ and I’m _ generally _ a big fan of your extracurricular heroics.”

And somehow, despite everything that’s happened between them, despite the fact that he feels dumb and short-sighted, despite the reality that he’s been maybe hurting people just as much as he’s been helping them for the last couple of years, despite the argument that landed them here, he feels that something in his stomach bubble at her words. 

It feels stupid, but he can’t help it. It’s a quiet intimacy that he doesn’t normally get to have with her and it’s the kind that he desperately wants. She just admitted to liking him as both Peter and Spider-Man and it’s praise that his bruised ego is maybe a little bit too willing to receive, especially from her. 

He smiles softly. “I’m sorry that I got so caught up in trying to be a hero that I forgot I was operating in an inherently racist and very imperfect system of governance.” He pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “Thank you for like...not letting me just be that way. It’s just one of the many reasons I like being your friend and having you as my “_girl_ in the chair,” he says, putting extra emphasis on “girl” which earns him an eye roll and tiny smile from MJ. 

Something shifts between them, their apologies lightening the atmosphere only minutely as the intensity of the scene hits them both with seemingly equal force. 

Peter wonders what it might look like to an innocent third party if they walked into his small bedroom at this very moment. Silently, Peter realizes that he’d completely changed out of his spidey suit into his pajamas right in front of MJ and they were both so caught up in the argument that neither one realized. Or at least he hadn’t and she didn't seem to. 

Peter can't remember the last time he’d fought with somebody like this. He’s not sure it’s ever happened. Definitely not with a friend. The aftermath of May finding out about Spider-Man had been an argument for the books but May had always been very adaptable and eventually, once she realized she couldn't stop him, she warmed well to their new routine. The argument he and Tony had gotten into was really just Peter ranting and Tony trying to get a word in edgewise until Peter stormed into his room and fell asleep. This argument seemed so much bigger than those. Somehow he’s both absolutely horrified and completely not surprised that Michelle Jones of all people is the only person who drug a fight like this out of him. 

He spares her a glance from across the camped room and watches a similar wave of overwhelm wash over her. She takes a big shuddering breath, brings her hands up to cover her face and to Peter’s horror, starts fully and aggressively crying. 

Peter’s eyes widen, mouth falling open, body completely frozen for a couple seconds as his brain hurriedly trips over something to say. 

“MJ?” he asks, concerned, before he regains usage of more than one brain cell and rushes over to her. Without sparing a second thought he pulls her into a hug and lets her burrow into his neck, face still hidden behind her hands. He stays quiet for a minute before speaking. 

“More argument tears?” He asks in a whisper, hand starting to rub circles on her back. 

She nods infinitesimally against her hands and he feels it more than he sees it. A sob racks through her body.

“Can I...like...do something to help?” He asks cautiously

She shakes her head and then mumbles something he can’t really hear. 

“I can’t hear you behind your hands,” He says softly. 

Slowly and carefully, she pulls her head up and looks at him with a red, blotchy, and very wet face. She talks through a sniffle. “They’ll stop soon,” she says voice small in a heart-aching way that makes Peter feel a little crazy, his instinct screaming at him to fix it even as his brain tells him that he’s already doing all he can. He watches her wipe a tear only to replace it with a fresh one a second later. She tries to talk again but all that comes out is a little sob and Peter brings his hand up to her head and lets her hide her face in his neck again. She doesn’t fight it the slight pressure he puts behind the gesture. 

They stay like that for another minute or so as her sobs die down, Peter with one hand on her head, one rubbing her back. In the quiet he has time to remember, even through his concern, that this is easily the most intimate moment the two of them have ever shared. Then he immediately hates himself for how happy he feels about that while a miserable MJ cries on his shoulder.

He lets himself wonder how often MJ has been overcome with tears after a big argument that the process of riding it out is as familiar to her as it seems to be. He frowns at the thought but keeps it to himself, not keen to say anything and ruin the rare moment of vulnerability. Eventually, though, the sobs slow to a stop and she’s just breathing heavy breaths against his neck in a way that is definitely making goosebumps race down his arms under his long sleeved t-shirt. The hand on her back becomes firmer and she pulls back out of the crook of his neck but stays firmly in his hug as she lets out one final sigh. 

She looks at him in a glare that’s so obviously a smokescreen, he can't help the tiny smile that appears on his lips in response.

“So,” she starts. 

“So,” he echoes in her tone. 

She pushes her lips together “I cry when I get overwhelmed,” she announces. And as if the admission and the eye contact is just too much for her to handle, she moves her gaze down to his chest for a cool 3 seconds before looking back up at him. 

“Okay.” He says plainly, smile still on his lips. 

Her glare is back. “It’s not because I'm sad.” She looks at Peter, voice harsh. His soft smile doesn’t disappear and her facade crumbles under it. She looks away again as she speaks, “They’re just—sometimes it’s hard for me to be honest about my feelings because I don’t know how other people will react. So I have to, like, _ really _ psych myself up for it and it’s just a lot and sometimes it doesn’t go the way I psyched myself up for it to go and I have nowhere to put all that...i don’t know...intensity?” She says it more like a question, meeting his eyes again. “And it just comes out as tears. And I can’t stop them once they start.”

Peter considers that for a second, eyes looking vacantly off to the side as he wraps his brain around an MJ that’s not only a crier but also one that apparently cries around him. He’s a big crier. He cries at absolutely _ anything _even remotely sad or sentimental and MJ knows that. She makes fun of him for it. And he knows that she’s waiting for him to return the gesture but he’s generally a big fan of crying and privately, he’s always held the opinion MJ could use a solid cry or two with everything that she deals with on a daily basis. It's fucked up but he’s kinda glad to know that she has the catharsis. He’s even more glad that he gets to be a part of it this time. He looks at her, soft smile returning to his face without his permission. He shrugs his shoulders and says “okay” again. 

MJ seems unsure how to respond but she doesn’t try to fake a glare this time so Peter takes that as a good sign and pulls her into a tighter hug, half because she looks like she needs it and half because he definitely does. This time, she also wraps her arms around him. 

“Even if you were crying because you’re sad, that’s okay. I won’t tell anyone that you have feelings, MJ. Your secret is safe with me,” He says through the soft smile and MJ laughs from where her face rests against his shoulder. She squeezes him once and he takes that as a thank you.

They stay like that for a long moment, too long for it to be normal, and Peter’s heart starts beating fast in his chest. He wants to do something, say something to bring it back down to a safer place, but at the same time the warmth of the moment is almost too intoxicating to break.

“Peter…” MJ says quietly against his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” Peter breathes out.

“I’m really sorry if I was too harsh. During our argument, I mean. I don’t want you to think what you do isn’t important or good. I just…” she takes a big breath. “You’re my best friend and I want you to be better and I really hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

Peter holds her tight, closes his eyes, and swallows down the lump in his throat that forms at the words “best friend.” It’s the first time he’s ever heard her call him that. It’s the first time he’s heard her call _ anyone _ that and he thinks distantly that it shouldn’t make his heart flutter quite the way it does but he doesn’t care. He _ wants _ this moment. Has wanted this moment for maybe a full year now. Has wanted it without even really knowing he’s wanted it and without knowing what wanting it means. He stills himself, forces a calmness that is the furthest thing from what he feels. 

“You were maybe just harsh enough,” He says as he rests his head against hers and dares to add. “I like that you’re honest. Even if it does hurt sometimes. I like knowing that if I’m ever being a dick you’ll tell me. Like...I didn’t even realize that I was actively contributing to institutionalized racism until you said something. I think you saying something was definitely worth hurting my feelings, you know?” He says quietly. 

MJ turns her head so she’s facing his neck once more. She nods her head in agreement and then pulls back again. She straightens herself up, shifting her shirt from where it had wrinkled, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat noisily. She looks at him in her distinctly MJ half smile and says, “Here’s the deal, I'll still be bitchy and call you out when you need to be called out but I'll also be the friend that helps you figure out how to be better.” She holds her hand out to him. “Sound fair?”

Peter smiles. “Only if I can still be the slightly chaotic dork who dabbles in heroics as an extracurricular but also the friend you call when you need someone to hug while you cry when you’re overwhelmed,” He offers back. 

MJ returns his smile with a rare toothy grin and nods. “Okay.” And Peter takes her hand to make it official. 

“Now,” MJ says turning away from him to grab her bag. “I have a google doc with some ideas on how to make Spider-Man a bit more socially aware and just generally more organized. Some of my ideas are far fetched but with some tweaking, I think they could actually work really well.” She pulls her laptop out and sets it on the bed and then pauses looking back at Peter. “How tired are you?” She asks as if she’s just remembered that he’d been coming back from patrol before this whole thing started. 

If Peter is being honest, he’s exhausted. He’d had a long day of studying followed by a busy patrol and then the emotional rollercoaster that has been the past 30 minutes. And now everything he thought he knew about his role as Spider-Man is up in the air. A big part of him wants to crawl into bed, hide his face, and not think about anything but sleep for the next 12 hours. But as he looks up at MJ he knows he can't tell her that. She’s so excited to show him all of her plans, and he’s so surprised, so fucking touched that she’d given it so much thought that it doesn’t even register that he could say anything but “not too tired to look at some of your ideas” and so that’s what he does. 

MJ beams at him excitedly, climbs back onto his bed, and maneuvers herself so her back is against the wall. “Okay, I'll pull it up and make sure it makes sense to other humans. You go shower because although I’m very grateful for the hugs, you do smell like the streets of New York,” She says sympathetically. 

He laughs and nods in resignation, heading over to his drawers to pull out fresh pjs for the evening, even though he’d just pulled his current set on. 

“I’ll be back in 10,” he tells her from the door. 

She shouts “take your time” and doesn’t look up from her computer.

He stays there for a second longer and looks into his tiny bedroom. He isn’t really sure of much at the moment, like what being Spider-Man is gonna look like moving forward, and how he feels about all that he’s already done as Spider-Man, but looking at MJ as her eyes sparkle down at her screen, bottom lip caught between her teeth in focus, and fingers tapping out a rhythm on her keyboard, he knows for absolute certain that both Spider-Man and Peter Parker are very lucky to have her on their team. 


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. I had my 10 year anniversary with my best friend this weekend and was preoccupied with that. 
> 
> This chapter is good shit though so hopefully you can forgive me. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments. I'm a gemini and I feed off of that shit!!!
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr: spiders-n

**IV.**

** _Thursday November 28th. 9:42pm _ **

Peter slumps against the well worn chair that brackets the small living room of his apartment. He can hear May shuffling about in the kitchen, presumably putting away the to-go boxes they’d brought home from the soup kitchen the pair spent the majority of their day volunteering at, as was Thanksgiving tradition in the Parker household. From where he’s sitting, the quiet hum of their radiator sounds like a familiar song and the dim light of the lamp casts little impressions of piled up mail and a three-year old magazine onto the floor beneath their coffee table. 

“Well honey,” May starts, shuffling out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna go to bed now. You know the kitchen always wears me out,” She says over a yawn, arms stretching out beside her rigidly before relaxing into an exaggerated slump. She makes her way to where Peter is scrunched horizontally onto the sitting chair and leans down to kiss his head. “As always, I’m the most thankful for you this year,” She murmurs into his hair, pulling the throw blanket from the back of the seat and laying it over him.

Peter smiles and leans into May’s warmth. “‘m the most thankful for you too, May. Thank you for loving me,” He mumbles, settling into the chair further, fully aware of the backache falling asleep on it will give him, and resolutely not caring at all. His eyes are closed, have been since he stumbled onto the seat, and his normally overactive senses are, for once, subdued. Distantly he hears May hum something in response and then the room is filled with the melodic shuffles of her feet walking away and her door closing. Then there is only the silence of home. He lets himself relax. 

He’s more tired than he usually is after the soup kitchen. Most years, spending the day with the smattering of volunteers and various families that filter through the organization’s large Thanksgiving dining room is a sure fire way to get Peter energized and ready for mischief by the time he gets home. For the past two years, he’s gone out as Spider-Man and continued his overdose of helping people by making sure that the citizens of Queens have a safe holiday. This year he feels a cloud of fatigue settle deep into his huddled form. 

Nothing about the day itself was particularly exhausting but the past month of his life has been an avalanche of newness that Peter thinks might actually be working him to the bone. Ever since he was made uncomfortably aware of his own shortcomings as Spider-man, he’s been determined to correct his behavior as much as possible. He’s still not completely sure how to do that, but MJ had a couple of really good suggestions and when he’d told May about them, she's given him even more advice. Everything that either of them came up with seemed to be centered around educating himself more than anything. So for now, corrections have come in the form of bias trainings, ethics courses, and community relations seminars. 

He likes what he’s learning more than he thought he would. MJ had broached the topic of bias training the night of their argument but they came up with the other two courses after brainstorming with Ned and May the next day. They're just the start, just the basics of what they all agreed he should know if he’s gonna keep being Spider-Man, but after his first couple of classes, he feels like an idiot for not asking to take them sooner. Not only are they ridiculously helpful in his Spider-Manning, they’re also really interesting topics he’s never even considered looking into before. 

It’s been a lot of fun, actually. Pepper reacted really supportively to his interest in the trainings and Tony is generally a big fan of Peter experimenting with what he does as Spider-Man, so the two spared no expense in finding the best (and toughest) instructors available in all of the areas Peter wanted training in. It never gets easier to let them spend money on him like it’s no big deal, but the spoonful of “it’ll make Spider-Man better” sugar does help the medicine go down. 

After he’d sort of spread the word among his superhero friends (it still boggles his mind that he actually has those) that he’s trying to make Spider-Man better, they all threw in a long list of other courses he might find useful as well. Rhodey was particularly adamant about 12 topics he said changed his life. A week into Peter’s classes he and Pepper sat down —only after Pepper insistence— and mapped out the quickest path to completing all the training that had been suggested to him. She claimed the session was for Peter’s benefit but he knows Pepper well enough to know she wanted the information for her own plans and safeguards. She’s sneaky like that. The two of them eventually figured out that the courses roughly equated to a master’s degree in being a superhero, which is low-key the coolest thing Peter has ever heard said aloud. It’s a mix of tactics training, physics, sociology, and weirdly, a lot of historical study, that Peter is more than a little bit eager to jump into. For this semester though, May insisted on limiting his extracurricular studies to three outside courses and he went with the original three team Spider-Man came up with in the beginning. 

He’s sort of grateful she put her foot down because between normal classes for school, extra classes for Spider-man, and actually going on patrol, Peter is, in a word, exhausted. It’s the kind of exhausted he’s glad for, though. The kind of exhausted he felt when he first discovered his abilities and spent every night for three weeks straight just messing around with them and testing their limits. Except this time, instead of getting a six pack and the ability to climb walls overnight he’s slowly and steadily unlearning biases and gaining an understanding of complex sociological topics. So it's like, just as cool, really. 

The fact that he loves what he’s doing doesn't offset how weird it feels that this is his life now. He's only been alive for 16 years, but the amount of times he’s started a day in one reality and ended it in a completely different one is starting to give him motion sickness. There are days where the totality of being a superhero, even just a friendly neighborhood one, overwhelms him in a way he can't actually put into words. The past month of his life is illustrative of just how quickly the path you’re on can be shifted. He’s not sure he’s ever gone more than a few years without at least one life altering event coming to shake everything up. 

He’s seen therapists before. After his parents died, after Ben died, after everything with the vulture, etc. And it was helpful. But he’s not sure if there's anyone out there who would actually be able to guide the emotions of a superhero teenager who survived 3 parents by the age of 14. So he relies on the people he knows love him and hopes that between them, they can piecemeal something resembling a healthy lifestyle. The fact that Tony Stark and Pepper Potts are now somehow included in that list is a combination of mind boggling, reassuring, and terrifying that Peter hasn’t had the energy to dissect since it became a reality. 

It’s nice though. It’s nice to have a pseudo family again after over two years of he and May just sort of _ making it work _ despite the grief and loss. It’s nice to end a day of volunteering at the kitchen, something they’d always done with Ben, and not feel suffocated by the weight of his absence. Peter is absolutely exhausted, but as he lays lopsided on the lumpy sitting chair that's been where it is in their living room for as long as Peter can remember, he can honestly say he’s happy. And that's a comforting enough thought to let himself drift to sleep on. So he does. 

_ Buzz buzz buzz _

Peter’s eyes snap open. He shuffles, reaching frantically for the buzzing he can feel on the cushion below him, tapping around until he finally finds his phone. He pulls it up, squinting against the brightness radiating from it. MJ’s name is printed in bright letters across the screen. He slides his thumb against the dancing green phone icon and lifts it to his ear as he falls back against the overstuffed cushion behind him, eyes closing again. 

“Hello,” He says, voice still raspy from his sleep. 

“Peter?” MJ’s voice sounds far away from her phone. 

“Hey, Em.” He yawns quietly. “What’s up?” 

“Peter,” She repeats uncertain. “I need your help.” 

Peter opens his eyes again, body tensing. “Okay… What kind of help?” 

“Spider-Man kind of help,” MJ says heavily. 

Peter sits up quickly, all the tired post-thanksgiving warmness gone from his body. “What’s going on?” He asks voice alert with concern.

“Um…” MJ’s tone is unsure. “I’ll explain later. Right now I need you to break into my apartment,” she says more confidently.

Peter frowns. “Your apartment?” He pulls his phone away from his face to make sure he’s talking to who he thinks he’s talking to. “MJ aren’t you in DC with your dad right now?” He asks, confused. 

“I’ll explain when you get here!” She repeats, more strongly this time. “Just—I don't know—find a way to get into my apartment.” 

He stands up, still frowning. “Are you okay?” He can’t help but ask as he walks back into his room. 

“Yeah,” MJ says, voice higher than it normally is, like she’s lying. “Just get here, okay?” She finishes. 

Peter grabs his suit from the closet and then wedges the phone between his shoulder and face. “I’m coming right now,” He assures her and then she hangs up. 

The swing to MJ’s apartment building from his would be easily mapped out in his mind through muscle memory even if Karen didn't have it pulled it up for him as soon as he slips his mask on. Still, it’s been a while since he’s made the swing in the night time, when the need for stealth is a lot greater, and the recent cold snap that’s fallen over New York in the past couple of days makes his commute feel a lot longer than it actually is. He’s nervous too and that doesn't help. MJ’s voice sounded so hesitant on the phone, so much less sure of herself than he’s ever heard her, and the sound sits in his mind like sour milk. There is so much that he doesn't understand. For one thing, MJ is supposed to be in Washington D.C. all week visiting her father and his family. Why she is, presumably, at her apartment in Queens remains a mystery. For another, why does he need to break into her apartment? What’s stopping her from just letting him in the front door like she normally does? The possible answers to that question make his head spin. 

Peter sits with them all for the full 15 minutes it takes him to swing softly to a stop at the side of MJ’s building. He makes his way, as quickly as possible, to the window Karen has assured him belongs to MJ’s living room. He peers inside, taking in the large couch and heavy entertainment center that he, MJ, and Ned have enjoyed many a movie night in front of and breathes a sigh of relief. Karen has not led him astray. 

He pulls back eyeing the latch of the window before him. 

“Karen what’s my play?” He asks her quietly. 

“Looks like the best way in is through brute force. The window lock can likely be disabled under enough pressure.” 

“Right,” Peter mumbles to himself. “Well...first things, first,” He says and then pops the screen out of it’s tract. Gingerly, he puts it off to the side and webs it to the wall, glancing around him to make sure nobody has noticed his presence. All the surrounding windows are dim. He turns his attention back to the window in front of him. After studying it for a minute he goes for broke, places one hand against the top part of the frame surrounding the sliding pane and applies a bit of force, pushing it up. Almost too easily, it gives and the pane slides, quickly, all the way to the top of the tract, so that it’s almost even with the top pane. There’s a quiet clatter as the small metal beams that lock the window in place are snapped clean off under the pressure of his push. 

Peter takes no time to celebrate, mind already moving on to finding MJ as he climbs through the open space and lands softly onto the apartment floor. He listens for movement. Nothing. 

“MJ?” He calls out, standing up straight. 

“Peter?” He picks up her muffled reply. 

“Where are you?” He asks, looking around the empty living room and kitchen. 

“Bedroom,” she responds. 

He moves quickly down the hall directly to where her bedroom door is closed and then hesitates behind it, unsure of what he’ll find. 

“Em? Can I come in?” He asks tentatively. 

“Yes, Peter. That’s why I called you over.” He hears her impatient shout from the otherside.

Peter is not sure what he’d been expecting to find when he walks in. His mind had fed him what he thought was every possibility imaginable during his swing over. Things that ranged from a perfectly calm MJ that just wanted to hang out all the way to one that needed his help getting rid of a dead body. What he did not expect to see was MJ, across the room, buried under what looked like an entire library of books, with an eight-foot tall bookcase haphazardly strewn atop them, slowly but surely crushing her. 

“Hey dude,” MJ greets casually, head and shoulders the only parts of her body visible beneath the blanket of books. 

“Hey…” He squeaks, taking in the scene. His mouth falls slightly agape as his eyes rake over the absolute mess of books splattered throughout the room, overturned bookshelf missing from the line of them that have covered the far wall of her bedroom for as long as Peter’s ever been a guest in it. 

“Uhm…” MJ wiggles awkwardly. “Help,” she says, plainly giving up. 

“Right!” Peter rushes forward, coming up to gently push the bookshelf back to stand straight only to meet the resistance of books that had fallen and slid into the space it previously occupied along the wall. He pauses for a moment, eyes scanning the room for a better place to set the shelf so he can dig MJ out of the books. He lifts it up in one go, arms awkwardly hugging around it as he walks it over to a space by her bed to rest out of the way. When he turns around, MJ has managed to free her hands from the weight of the books, a smile of victory painted on her face as she holds them up in celebration. 

He pulls his mask off and smiles back, but he’s still a little distracted by the books that have settled on and around her body. “Are you hurt?” He asks walking back over to her. 

She frowns, face pulled into a moment of consideration before she turns to look at him. “Dunno. I suppose there’s only one way to find out!” She announces to him as she tries to gain purchase on the floor to lift herself. 

“Wait!” He cries out, rushing forward to stop her.

She freezes where she is, looking up at him in concern. “What’s wrong?” 

“Well first of all, you’re almost definitely not going to be able to lift yourself up under the weight of all this,” He says, webbing a particularly heavy encyclopedia from where it’s laying against her ribcage and tugging it back to his hand. “Second of all, there’s more than one way to find out if you’re hurt.” He tosses the book onto her bed. “Just...give me a second.” He moves his hands in a slow down gesture and stands back, tugging his mask half on so that his face is uncovered but his ears are. 

“Karen, run a full body scan on MJ for me, please. Report any broken bones.” He says clearly.

The spider emblem of his suit detaches and flies over to MJ, hovering about five feet above where she’s staring up at it in wide-eyed surprise. A red laser beam protrudes from it’s head and moves over where MJ’s body is presumably underneath all the books. 

“—the hell,” MJ breathes out as the robotic spider flies back to Peter’s chest and reattaches to his suit. 

“No broken bones have been detected, though Ms. Jones does appear to have severe muscle and tendon strain surrounding her left ankle. She will likely be unable to support her full weight for the next two days depending on treatment. This will cause discomfort if/when she attempts to get up,” Karen informs him a moment later. 

He looks at MJ. “Sounds like you twisted your ankle but otherwise you’re okay.” 

MJ looks at him unblinking for a moment. “You can do an x-ray scan with your suit?” She asks impressed. She looks down at her body, trying to clear some books off of herself. “That’s awesome,” she mumbles. 

He can’t help but smile and shrug. “Tony and I thought it would come in handy.” He crouches down beside her and starts to help dig her out. “So what happened?” He asks eye flicking up to hers for a beat, not stopping his efforts to free her. 

“Oh.” She stops digging for a moment, looking at him sheepishly. “I was, um, trying to reach a book on the top shelf and I...fell.” 

Peter glances up at her again, expectantly. “And?” 

“And what?” 

“And then the crash from your 110 pound body hitting the floor sent the completely full eight-foot-tall bookshelf tumbling down on top of you?” Peter asks, unconvinced. 

“Well,” MJ says, picking up a worn copy of To Kill and Mockingbird and chucking it off to the side. “I might have latched onto it when I felt myself falling and pulled it down with me,” She admits. “In my defense I thought it was bolted into the wall!” 

Peter narrows his eyes at her, hands freezing where he’s in the middle of moving Pride and Prejudice. “Why did you fall in the first place?” 

MJ looks at him with an annoyed expression and then relents. “_ Fine! _” She grumbles, forcefully tossing another book away. “I may or may not have been standing on top of my upside down dirty clothes hamper which collapsed under my weight.” She grudgingly admits. 

“There it is.” He says, letting out a satisfied laugh that turns into a real one as his brain helpfully zeros in on the crumpled plastic hamper that’s sitting in front of one of the still standing bookshelves. MJ frowns again, but then seems to take in her situation and slips into giggles herself. She throws her head back in a quiet huff. 

“Don’t laugh!” She says through an only half embarrassed smile. 

“What on earth were you trying to read that was so important?” Peter asks, eyes alight from where he’s moved down her legs to clear books out. To his delight she seems to also be wearing her most embarrassing set of pajamas that heavily feature the grumpy dwarf from Snow White. Judging by the faded colors and pant leg that was resting 4 inches above her ankle, she’s clearly had them for years. 

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,” she says distractedly as she uses her forearms to make a couple inches of space around her body in the sea of books. 

Peter glances up at her in question. 

“It’s my favorite Harry Potter book,” She informs.

“I know it is. You read it when you need to ‘believe in second chances again.’” He says, voice a little concerned as he clears the last book off her foot. MJ very pointedly does not respond and turns her face away so he can’t read her expression. 

He stands up and walks back up her body. “Okay we’re talking about that later,” He threatens but he keeps his voice soft because he knows that he’s testing the power of his very new and very revocable best friend status. “Can you get up?” He asks from beside her again. 

She pushes herself up to a sitting position and then tries to lift her weight onto her legs. No dice. She shifts and tries again, lasting a second before she sits resolutely back down on the ground, wincing in pain. She frowns up a Peter for a moment, making her disdain for her predicament abundantly clear to him. He considers all of his options for a moment before just doing what he knows is simplest. He crouches down beside her again and lays his hand gently on her shin right above her ankle, shooting a goofy face in her direction to offset how annoyingly Spider-Man-y he’s about to be. “Don’t worry about it, Em. I’ve got you,” he mumbles and then he scoops her up, one arm around her back, the other in the bend of her knees. _ Bridal style _ his brain helpfully supplies him. 

She yelps in surprise when he lifts her and Peter glances down at her to make sure she’s okay as he takes his first couple of steps. She looks more surprised than anything so he keeps going. He turns towards her bed and sees that it’s messy with a couple of migrant books and completely unmade. _ Couch it is then, _he thinks, walking around the emptied bookshelf and out of the bedroom. With MJ still clasped tightly in his arms, he trudges her over to the overstuffed couch in the living room and sets her down on it.

“You okay?” He asks, pulling away.

MJ nods. “Didn’t think a twisted ankle would hurt this bad,” she grits out, trying inanely to move her left foot. 

“Karen did say your muscles and tendons were severely strained,” He offers her a sympathetic look that turns to a frown when he sees her try and roll her ankle. “Stop you’ll make it worse!” Peter grumbles at her. 

He walks away towards the kitchen, still frowning as he pulls the freezer open, looking resolutely through the boxes of frozen waffles and bags of mixed vegetables to find the ice pack she’s offered him anytime he’s swung by after a rough patrol. “How did you call me with your hands trapped under all the books?” He calls behind him as he spots the pack in the bottom shelf on the door. He’s been curious about it since he first registered her dilemma but he didn't want to ask until he knew she was okay. 

“I had Alexa call you. My mom gave me one for my birthday,” MJ’s voice sounds from behind him. He pulls back, nodding his head so she knows he heard her as he moves over to the cupboard under the sink to rummage through the first aid kit he knows the Jones’ keep there. He finds what he’s looking for immediately and snags that as well before returning the kit to its resting place. Clad with new tools, he heads back over to where MJ is eyeing him curiously. 

“Lift,” he requests, quietly. She lifts her feet in response and he plops down on the couch where they’d previously been resting. Peter gently grabs her left leg around the calf and pulls it back down onto his lap. He looks up at her still curious expression and holds up the ice pack and ace bandage he’d taken so she can see them. “I’m gonna wrap your ankle,” He informs her. 

“Oh.” She pauses for a moment. “Okay.” She says calmly. But when he reaches down to hold her foot she jerks away. He looks up at her, eyebrows raised. Her expression is nervous. “Will it hurt?” She asks, voice quieter than he’s ever heard it in a way that has nothing to do with volume. 

He frowns. “It might be a bit uncomfortable for a little while.” He says honestly. She worries her lip and his frown deepens. “Have you never twisted your ankle before?” He asks, curiously. 

MJ shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Parker, but physical exertion and I don’t really get along.” 

He grins despite himself. This is too perfect. He actually knows this stuff, he’s painfully familiar with how to take care of these sort of minor ‘will heal easily with treatment’ kind of injuries. Of course _ most _ of his injuries are the ‘will heal easily with treatment’ kind now, but he knows how to handle this kind of thing from before the spider bite. He remembers the tips and tricks May had given him on how to remember what to do. He’d been such a mess as a kid, it really was just smarter for him to learn how to treat his injuries himself. 

“Awe baby’s first sprain!” He coos at her. She glares at him but he ignores it. “Well don’t worry. It’s nothing that won’t go away in a day or two,” he assures her, his smiles overzealous in the way she says she hates but he thinks she secretly loves. “Generally the best method of treatment is R.I.C.E.,” he tells her. She blinks. His smile just gets bigger. “Rest.” He gestures to her body sprawled out on the couch. “Ice.” He holds up the pack in his hand again. “Compression.” He lifts the ace bandage. “And elevation.” He gently shakes his leg on which MJ’s ankle rests at a slight incline. Peter looks up at her expression of annoyed consternation with a smile. 

“How do you know all this?” She asks as she eyes the ace bandage wearily. 

“I’m a superhero, MJ. I know everything.” He smirks 

“So Karen told you?

“May,” he concedes. 

“There it is,” MJ mimics his previous statement. 

Peter grins again and his chest is warm even as he forces it away and gives her a stern look of question. “Are you gonna let me wrap this?” He asks. 

“Fine,” She grumbles, throwing her head back dramatically. “But be warned, I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks. It’s sharp down there.” 

“Yeah I know.” Peter breathes out heavily, bringing his finger into his mouth to suck on like he’d been cut. “Good thing I have super healing,” he says in faux relief. 

MJ kicks his knee with her uninjured foot and they both fall into a cascade of laughter. Peter barely chokes back a laugh long enough to say “I haven’t shaved in weeks either, can’t you tell?” And he rubs a palm against his completely smooth jaw line, which only sends them into a new wave of giggles. 

Peter regains control of himself first, “Seriously though, I don’t care if you haven’t shaved.” He looks at her sternly. “Sit still.” And to his surprise, she listens. 

The warmth of their shared laughter fills the air around them as he starts the process of wrapping her ankle up, letting the bandage thicken on the space that surrounds her ankle and towards the back of her foot. He leaves a gap in the wrapping so that her heel sticks out for no reason other than that's how he’d always seen ankles wrapped. As the bandage unspools from it’s coil, he pulls the elastic material taught, just enough pressure that it’ll keep her ankle immobile but not enough to cause her any more pain. When he comes to the end of the bandage, he uses the metal grips to stick the open flap down. 

After examining his handy work he looks back up at her. “How does that feel?” 

“‘S fine,” she mumbles and then to his annoyance tries to roll her ankle again. “Can’t really move it.” 

Peter rolls his eyes. “That’s kind of the point, genius.” He reaches for the ice pack and settles it against her ankle. 

MJ glares at him but mumbles out a begrudging “thank you.” 

“Alright,” Peter begins, lifting MJ’s legs up once more. “Now that I’ve heroically saved you.” He shifts so he’s sitting criss cross applesauce, body facing toward her, “And banaged you up,” he continues, webbing a throw pillow from the love seat next to them and places it on his lap so he can let her foot rest on it. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks, finally.

MJ heaves a heavy sigh, letting her head fall back against the arm rest again. “I had a plan,” she groans out, staring at the ceiling. “The perfect plan. The kind of plan only evil masterminds can pull off. And I would have gotten away with it…” She looks back at him darkly, “If it weren’t for that fucking book being up too high.” 

There’s a pause in which Peter nods slowly, lips pursed. “Explain.” 

MJ lets out another mournful sigh. “I had a plan,” She begins again. “It all started after I broke up with Brad.” 

“Experiment 69?” Peter clarifies. 

“Yeah.” 

“Continue.” 

“Brad and I broke up. Not a big deal, I was fine. But I knew if I told my mom about it she’d make a big deal out of it and make me talk about my feelings and,” she shook her head and gave him a significant look, “Nothing good was waiting for me down that road. So I Iied. At first by omission, but then one time I was leaving and she asked me where I was going and I knew she wouldn’t want me out by myself at night time so I told her I was getting ice cream with Brad. And it worked. She didn’t worry about me. I spent an hour reading at Cream & Sugar like I was gonna do anyway and no one was hurt.” She pauses in thought and then makes eye contact with Peter again. 

“Then it kind of went off the rails. I liked it, Peter. I liked all the time I had to myself without my mother worrying I wasn’t getting the ‘authentic teenage experience.’ I started wondering how I could get more than just a couple of hours at a time. Like what if I could get a whole week to myself? Well right around the time I'd been thinking about that, my mom suggested I go spend Thanksgiving week with my dad in D.C. so I could get to know my little siblings. That’s when the plan formed. I figured if she thought I was going to Dad’s for a week that she’d finally take her sister up on her offer to spend Thanksgiving in California with her. So I told my aunt about my completely made up plans to spend Thanksgiving with my dad and she immediately offered to fly mom out to see her. And just like I predicted, my mother took the bait. It was perfect. On Saturday morning I ‘left’ for D.C. with my empty suitcase and spent the day at the library waiting for her to go to the airport. After I double checked that her flight had taken off I came back home where I have spent 5 glorious days doing whatever I want. All by myself.”

When she finishes, the room goes silent. Peter looks at her, torn between impressed and concerned. He’s not sure how to respond. He knows he should probably reprimand her. Lying is bad and she’s been lying her ass off for upwards of a month. And putting herself into some dangerous situations along the way. He knows he _ should _ but there’s a really big part of him that understands completely. There have been many a day where if he didn’t have the space that May’s 12 hour shifts afford him, he probably would have done something equally as crazy. Or worse. 

“Em that’s...diabolical,” he says finally, and then because he can’t help it, his mouth curls into a grin. “It’s genius. I’m..._ very _impressed, ” he breaths out. “But,” he looks at her tentatively. “Tell me someone knew where you were this week. Please tell me you haven't been walking around New York, by yourself, at night, without anyone knowing where you were.” 

MJ’s expression, which started as gleeful as he began, slowly shifts into one of uncomfortableness. She drops his gaze. “Yeah that probably would have been a good idea,” she admits, looking off to the side with her lips pursed. 

Peter’s eyes fall closed for a second and he experiences the full and total range of human emotions as he considers what could have been the fallout of this gaping hole in MJ’s admittedly masterful plan.

“Yeah,” Peter affirms, eyes opening again. “You definitely could’ve at least told me or Ned. I mean, it’s not like I would have bothered you if I knew you wanted to be left alone.” Peter’s stomach churns as his brain supplies a list of everything that could have happened to her. “Something a lot worse than a sprained ankle could have happened,” he adds. 

“Yeah.” She groans and she at least has the decency to look embarrassed at her oversight. “You’re right. Next time I trick everyone I love into leaving me alone, I'll let you know.” 

“That’s all I ask, MJ,” Peter says through faux exasperation. 

He slumps back against his arm rest, looking around the familiar room and over to the window that he’d left jammed open. He’ll have to fix that before MJ’s mom gets home but that’s a problem for later. He looks over at MJ who’d taken the lapse in conversation to close her eyes. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He voices softly. 

“Just did, dork,” MJ says, eyes still closed. 

Peter rolls his eyes even though he knows she can’t see him. “You know what I meant.” 

A smirk flickers over MJ’s mouth. “What’s up?” 

Peter pauses, unsure how to phase it. “What’s like...up with you and your dad?” He says and then cringes at how it came out. “I mean why _ didn’t _you spend Thanksgiving with him?” he rephrases. 

MJ opens one eye and squints at him with it before closing it again. “I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “Everytime I go to spend time with him, I just feel like an extra in a TV show I wouldn’t even really care to watch, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, even though he doesn’t really know. 

MJ shifts awkwardly for a moment. “I lied to him too.” She opens her eyes and looks at Peter. “He did ask me if I wanted to come to DC this week but I told him that I wanted to stay with mom so she wouldn’t be lonely.” 

Peter nods in response, not sure if there’s anything he can really say to that. As far as he can understand the situation, he gets it. The man showed up in MJ’s life when she was 10 with a whole new wife and family, wanting to make amends for having not spoken to her or her mother for the first decade of her life. As far as Peter’s concerned, MJ could have told her father to kick rocks and he’d support that decision. MJ could do anything she wants and he’d support her decision. But he knows, or at least suspects, that if she hasn’t told her father to kick rocks, she doesn’t actually want him to. So he proceeds with caution. 

“Is it weird lying to him like that?” He asks carefully. 

MJ seems to consider it for a moment. “Yeah, a bit,” she responds softly. “I feel like I lose a little bit of the moral high ground when I lie to him.” 

Peter frowns. “Em he’s your dad and he missed the first 10 years of your life. You could rob a bank and still have the moral high ground on him,” he reassures her. 

She lets out a weak laugh from the other side of the couch and then looks away from him in contemplation. It’s quiet between them but he resists his urge to fill it up. He knows that with MJ, it's better to let her talk when she’s ready then to try and drag it out of her. 

Eventually she speaks. “I know I can be kind of a bitch to him but I just don’t think I’m ready to forgive him.” She purses her lips. “I wanna be the kind of person that believes in second chances but I think I might be too much of a pragmatist.” 

He nods in understanding as something clicks in his brain. “That’s why you wanted to read The Prisoner of Azkaban. So you could believe in second chances again?” MJ nods in response. Peter thinks over what he wants to say carefully before he says it. “Maybe it’s more about you deserving a second chance at having a dad than him having a second chance at having a daughter.”

MJ looks at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. She tilts her head to the side as her mouth flickers into a tired kind of smile. “Maybe,” she concedes and then, after a beat, her expression turns fierce. “Promise that you won’t ever make your kid feel like they’d rather come up with an elaborate scheme to spend Thanksgiving alone than have to pretend they fit into your new life,” she says in a voice as tired as she looks. 

Peter’s lips turn down as he offers her a sympathetic look. He places his hand gently on her bandaged foot. “I promise,” he responds steadily. And then he thinks about it. “I don’t think we need to worry, I don’t think I want kids,” he finishes. 

MJ nods to herself. “No?” she asks.

Peter shakes his head remorsefully. 

“Afraid you’ll fuck ‘em up?” 

“Afraid I’ll die on them,” Peter responds. 

MJ’s eyes snap up to his, expression completely surprised. She draws her eyebrows down in a frown. “That’s not funny,” she says, seriously. 

“I’m not joking,” he says, matching her tone. 

“Peter, that’s not—you’re not gonna—” she stops short as she seems to remember who she’s talking to. Her frown deepens and she looks away in a huff for almost a full minute before meeting his eyes again. “I guess dads don’t have a very high survival rate in your family, do they?” she says, resigned. 

Peter can’t help the honest to god laugh that rips from his chest. “No,” he laughs out. “They do not.” 

MJ just looks at him as a small smiles sneaks onto her lips and she shakes her head. “And they didn’t even risk their lives playing superhero every other night,” she remarks pointedly. 

“True,” Peter agrees. And a quiet softness falls between them. 

“They’d of both made good superheroes, though,” he adds, thoughtfully.

MJ smiles. “Yeah?” she asks, warmly. 

“Yeah. I think so. I mean Ben was the one that taught me how to be responsible and to help people. He’s why May and I still go to the soup kitchen and volunteer on Thanksgiving.” He lets his eyes fall to where his hand is fiddling with the zipper of the pillow in his lap. “And dad was really smart. That’s what May’s told me. I don’t really remember much of him or my mom but May always says that I get my brain from him,” he adds, his voice quiet. 

“They sound like badasses,” MJ says, voice soft. “I think it takes superheroes to raise a superhero.” 

Peter draws his gaze back up to her and offers a small appreciative smile. The weight of the moment is suddenly heavy between them and, combined with the chill of the room caused by the open window, he can feel his body start to shiver. He’s grateful that she’s let him share, let him be honest in his morbidity, even though he knows she doesn’t like it. In all her darkness she is very fussy when it comes to his safety and health. He chooses to believe that it’s her way of conveying that she cares about him and normally he’s totally on board with that. But sometimes, like tonight, the reality that most of the people he’s ever loved have died on him is too heavy to hold inside for anyone’s benefit. He’s glad that she’d sensed that somehow and leaned into it with him. He wants to tell her that. Wants to convey just how much he appreciates being able to talk to her about this stuff, but he doesn’t know how to say it. Every time he’s ever tried, the words get too tangled in his brain. He ops, instead, for a subject change and hopes that she’ll let it slide. 

“I broke your window,” he says plainly. He knows that it’s terribly obvious what he’s doing but he commits to it. “I’ll fix it tomorrow morning but I’m not gonna leave you here alone while it’s broken.” 

MJ turns her body to look at the open window behind her and then shrugs. “Fine,” he concedes and then after a beat adds “what are your plans for tomorrow?” which Peter interprets as her asking how long he plans to intrude on her week of solitude.

He yawns involuntarily, slouching in his seat. “Tony and Pepper want me to go to the compound in the afternoon to get fitted for my tux,” he says tiredly. 

“You don’t have any superhero homework you need to be doing?” MJ asks around her own yawn.

“Things one, two, and three are making me take the rest of the week off from Spider-manning and classes. They think I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.” He informs her. This is something that was sprung on him only last night which is why he hasn’t had the chance to text her and Ned about it. 

MJ’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “And you’re being a good boy and listening? That isn’t like you.” 

Peter shrugs. “They’re kind of right. I think the semester might be kicking my ass. We’ve got finals in 3 weeks and I've still got like 10 chapters left to cover in my extra courses. Last night was my first full night’s sleep since you bitch slapped me in our argument.” 

“You do look awful,” MJ comments.

Peter opens his eyes from where he’d been resting them to glare in her direction. “I’m sorry I'm not living up to the frankly absurdly high standard of class and beauty you’re bringing to the table with your grumpy dwarf pajama pants.” 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to see me,” she says with gritted teeth and he can see a tiny blush on the apples of her cheeks. He frowns at her, not sure if she’s really embarrassed or if she’s setting him up for another jab. If she is, she recovers quickly. “Honestly these pants are the only proof I have that this whole bookshelf emergency wasn’t an elaborate scheme to get you to hang out with me again. I haven’t actually seen you outside of school since you started your new classes.” 

“Awe did you miss me?” He grins at her. 

“Endlessly,” she deadpans. Peter clutches his chest dramatically and pretends to get choked up. MJ rolls her eyes but her features settle into a tiny smile. “I’m really impressed that you’ve thrown yourself into these trainings, though. It’s definitely a good thing.” 

He can feel his own cheeks get warmer at her words. He can count the number of times on one hand that MJ’s said something like that to anybody and he can’t deny that being on the receiving end of her praise is...very nice. “You should come sit in on some of my classes at the compound sometime,” he hears himself suggest and then before he can help it he adds “Tony and Pepper said you and Ned can stay an entire weekend if your parents are okay with it.” 

“That sounds like an adventure,” MJ considers out loud. “I’m in. We just have to figure out how to frame it to my mother. Speaking of which,” she pauses for a moment to give Peter a meaningful look. “I got Tony and Pepper’s wedding invitation in the mail last week. You have no idea how hard it was to explain to my mom why Tony Stark and Pepper Potts invited me to their wedding.” She shakes her head. 

Peter’s eyes bulge out. “How _ do _ you explain that?” He wonders aloud. 

“I had to explain to her that I'd met them a couple times through you because he’s your mentor and that they’d graciously invited me so you’ll have a friend there, which is true so it worked. But not without a lot of suspicious guess work on her part. At one point she accused me of having an entire life that I keep secret from her.” MJ rolls her eyes, “Like I'm hobnobbing with billionaires in my free time and then pretending to be a normal teenager around her.” 

“Em, that is literally exactly what we both do on a daily basis,” Peter points out. 

MJ considers it for a moment before frowning. “Okay fair. But honestly Tony and Pepper don’t even count. They’re just your parents. I’m not hobnobbing with billionaires, I’m just playing games with your family on a Saturday night. It’s not my fault your family happens to contain one of the most powerful women on the planet and Iron Man,” she says defensively. 

“Oh we’ll definitely get the all clear from Claire if you explain it to her like that,” He says, dryly as he stands up from the couch and lets MJ’s leg and the pillow it rests on land softly where he’d been sitting. He starts walking out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” MJ asks from behind him. 

“I’m gonna grab the blanket off your bed so we can go to sleep,” He calls back to her. 

He returns a couple minutes later, spidey suit exchanged for a pair of her joggers that are definitely too long for him, and a #blacklivesmatter sweater that is just a tiny bit too short. He’s carrying the pillows and comforter that were resting messily on her bed, tightly in both arms as he waddles up to the couch. He throws one of the pillows to her, careful not to hit her too hard. 

“Scoot over,” He tells her stopping at where her feet rest. 

“Why?” she asks, confused. Her eyes climb over his body in a way that might make him squirm if he weren’t so tired. 

He gives her a look that says she’s being oblivious. “So I can lay down.” 

“You’re staying on the couch with me?” MJ asks surprised. 

“Well seeing as how the security breach is out here,” he gestures to the window “and you are also out here with a mobility impediment,” he points down to the offending ankle, “I kind of have to be out here too. And I'm not sleeping on the floor just because you thought it was a good idea to use a plastic hamper as a step ladder,” he finishes. 

MJ looks at him grumpily. “Fine,” she agrees, scrunching her knees up to let him plop back down on his side. He pulls his legs up too, stretching them out beside MJ so that his sock clad feet are wiggling next to her waist. With effort he tugs the huge blanket over both of them as he settles down into his side. 

“This is kinda cozy,” Peter says through a smile as MJ moves her ankle back onto the pillow next to his face. He takes the liberty to gently set the ice pack back on top of it from where it had slid off. 

MJ just shakes her head and slumps back against her pillow. 

Silence falls between them for a few moments and Peter feels the busyness of his day and the tiredness he’d felt before MJ’s call crawl back over him. The warmth of their bodies trapped together under the blanket wraps him up in an overwhelming MJ smell that's radiating from every direction and it simultaneously comforts him and sets him on edge. He forces himself not to think about how incredibly intimate what they’re doing is, a position he’s been in increasingly often lately, and instead forces himself to focus on how heavy his limbs feel. He’s almost asleep when MJ shifts beside him. 

“Peter?” her voice sounds from behind the blanket.

“Yeah?” Peter says without opening his eyes. 

“Thank you for coming to rescue me,” she says, sincerely.

Peter smiles and impulsively leans forward to kiss the top of her foot through the blanket. “Course, Em.” 

MJ leans into where his feet are resting by her head, wiggling a bit. “Goodnight loser.”

Peter’s smile never leaves his face. “Goodnight.”


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa play Feelings by Maroon 5. 
> 
> :) Thank you for your comments I cry! 
> 
> Come chat with me about this, it's all i want in the world. 
> 
> Tumblr: Spiders-n.

** **V.** **

**December 24th, 10:24pm. **

Christmas for Peter has never been an especially important time of year. He likes it well enough, but it’s generally not that big of a deal for him. When he was really little, May and Ben used to make the effort to bring him to see the lights in the neighborhood and to sit on Santa’s lap at the mall but once he got even a little bit too old to be dazzled by that, they stopped. The actual day of Christmas itself was usually a low-key affair that typically involved Ben making Christmas dinner in the kitchen while he hummed along to Frank Sinatra’s holiday album, May reading the new book that Ben always put in her stocking every year, and Peter messing around with whatever new thing his Aunt and Uncle saved up half the year to get him. 

And that was fine. He knows that’s what they thought they were supposed to do, so he never made a big deal about it, even when he started actively feeling guilty for taking the gifts. He never understood why it was so hard for him to take them when he was little because his aunt and uncle always did come through with something that he’d really been wanting, but there was always an underlying understanding of the cost, even before he really knew it, and that didn’t sit right. So, Peter isn’t one for gifts. He’d never been particularly jazzed about the prospect of people spending extra money on him for no real reason and holidays almost always felt like an excuse to make people buy gifts, so he isn’t particularly fond of the whole season. 

It’s also secretly because he’s always felt a little bit like a guest that no one ever expected to show up, like people ended up with him rather than sought out time with him. It’s hard not to feel that way when every single blood relative you’ve ever had dies before you’re the age of 15. And to be fair, neither Ben nor May ever contributed to that line of thought. They were, and in May’s case are, extraordinarily generous with their love and their money, even if they had a lot more of the former than the latter. But he’s always known that they never planned on having kids, and the cost of suddenly having one, and if he’s honest, a bit of a mess of one, couldn’t have been an easy transition for them. So he doesn’t like gifts because he doesn’t want to be any more trouble. He’s not one for _ things_, anyway, so it works out. 

After Ben passed away he practically begged May not to get him anything for Christmas that cost more than $50. He told her that, more than anything, he just wanted to spend time with her. And after the head spinning experience of losing Ben and gaining the ability to climb up walls all in the span of the previous six months, just a nice quiet couple of days with May in the comfort of their little apartment really _ was _ what he wanted. That Christmas had been, predictably, pretty rough, but they were them, so they managed. May put on Sinatra, Peter warmed up take out, and they spent the day alone, together, trying to reconcile how the world had gone on spinning while they were both still reeling from their own personal grief. Peter took it upon himself to carry on Ben’s tradition of buying May a book for her stocking, which was, if her reaction was anything to go by, the best thing he could have done for her that year. May was true to her word and had only gotten Peter some retro tech that she’d found in a pawn shop and thought he’d enjoy trying to take apart. Which, of course, he did. The $50 price limit for gifts became a staple for him. And, even though she’d never admit it, Peter knows the lack of that particular financial strain helped a lot during that first year. 

This year, though, things are a bit different. For one thing, May and Peter aren’t alone anymore. Tony and Pepper have wedged their way into the Parker family through some sort of serendipitous magic. It just happened. All of the sudden Peter went from spending an afternoon here or there working with Tony in his lab to spending nearly every weekend with him in the Avengers facility upstate. The Avengers facility where he has a bedroom and a toothbrush and a workstation with a nameplate. It’s weird because he’s not sure when everything changed. It’s like he’d gone to sleep one night with only one parent to answer to when he does something particularly risky as Spider-Man and woke up the next morning with three. Literally. One day he’d shown up upstate, beat to all hell after throwing himself in front of a bus with brakes that had gone out, and was pulled aside on three separate occasions by Tony, then Pepper, and then finally May, to receive the exact same lecture on “knowing his limits.” After that he’d very kindly put them all in a group chat to coordinate who covers what lecture when “so you guys can save each other some time.” He’d said. 

That group chat was started about 14 months ago and it’s taken off like wildfire since. May and Tony are both a part of the PTA. All three of them are listed as Peter’s emergency contacts and they all have the ability to sign his permission slips now, which, as he’s 16, feels a bit over the top, but having three loving and attentive parental figures clamber to be an active part of his life is a far cry from the imposition he’s always felt like, so he’s learning to let it be. He’s not sure when it happened, but there is no doubt in his mind that he’s somehow clumsily swung himself and his aunt into a family with two of the most famous and powerful people on earth. And now here they are, at yet another property that Tony and Pepper own, this time in Connecticut, celebrating Christmas as a weird family of five (Tony convinced Rhodey to join them). 

The thought that they really do make a family strikes Peter as he looks around the room from his perch next to Pepper. The two of them have been reading, snuggled under the same blanket on opposite ends of the couch, as May, Tony and Rhodey are sat at the dining room table quizzing each other with 80’s themed trivia cards from a board game they’d all been playing earlier. It’s familiar, the feeling of all of them here together. Like it had always been this way rather than the reality that this is their first extended family get-together. He thinks, or at least hopes, that it’ll turn into a tradition of sorts. That they’ll all find their way back together for Christmas even when he’s gone off to college and Tony and Pepper have started a family of their own. His chest warms at the notion. It seems almost too good to be his reality; but then, being this close with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts always does, so he’s getting used to it.

The exhaustion that he’d felt the night of Thanksgiving gave way to a sort of perma-tired that Peter’s learned to operate under since then. He finished with his regular finals about two weeks ago and has been enjoying a break from real school since then, though his break has been filled with cramming all the rest of his chapters from his extra classes, so. Not really all that relaxing. MJ and Ned helped a lot. They both found his extra classes interesting enough that they were willing to sit through hours of reading and discussion with him for it, so he’s counting himself lucky. He finished all of his extra courses two days before Tony and Pepper announced that, due to the near constant protests that had been erupting throughout the city after it had been uncovered that a New York real estate mogul had played a large role in funding the Three Knights, a trip ‘off the grid’ for Christmas might not be a bad idea. Emotionally, Peter wanted to stay in the city and protest, but when even MJ put her foot down and insisted that he take a break and go with them, he really didn’t stand a chance. Apparently the 5 bedroom cabin they’re all currently lounging in is a secret property that no one knows the couple had purchased together in the previous year.

Across the couch, Pepper picks up her foot and nudges it against his leg. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” she asks, peering at him from above her book. 

Peter looks up at where her warm expression is resting on his face and realizes, belatedly, that he’d been staring blankly at the wall for a couple minutes. His lips tug up a little at the ends as his gaze meets hers. “How freaking weird it is that I get to be here with you all this year,” he replies, honestly. He’s always a little embarrassed to admit his complete shock that for some reason they’ve chosen him to build a family with, but he’s been working on being honest, so he tells her the truth.

She smiles but he can see the moment of hesitation cross over her face. “Good weird?” she questions. 

The thing with Pepper, Peter has learned, is that she notices everything. She’s perceptive in a way that seems almost inhuman at times. Sometimes he’ll be writing an essay and she’ll peak over his shoulder to see what he’s writing about and she’ll comment about how, halfway down the page, there are two spaces between one word and another instead of the single space he’s put between the rest. She knows every font on sight, and can probably tell you what size font something is written in just by looking at it. And her keen observation skills aren’t limited to word documents, though Peter thinks an argument can be made that they are, perhaps, best shown off through that medium. She’s also very mentally tuned into the people she loves, and as that now includes Peter, she’s become very good at deciphering his various expressions and tones of voice and always calls him out, point blank, when he lies to her about something. It’s both maddening and reassuring because sometimes he does try to tough out legitimate medical emergencies when logic and reason point to other courses of action. Incidentally, Logic and Reason is what Pepper’s superhero name would be. 

Peter smiles back at her, and he knows his grin is doing the work his words could never do and because it’s Pepper, she’ll understand that. “The best,” he says. 

She smiles again and this time it’s unburdened. She swings her legs down off the couch as she turns on her cushion to face the large glittering mass of the Christmas tree that stands in front of them, 10 feet across the room. “Do you want to open one of your gifts now?” she asks him quietly. There’s an excitement to her tone that he rarely gets to hear in it. 

He frowns. “S’not Christmas yet.” 

She looks at him, smile wider. “When I was growing up, we all got to open one present on Christmas Eve to take the edge off of having to wait until the morning. I thought, in the name of starting new traditions, we could adopt it,” she explains. 

That gives him a moment of pause, all too aware that Pepper has all but confirmed to him that he isn't the only one who might be picturing some version of what they were doing, on repeat for years to come. He pushes down the knot of emotion that he’s feeling build in his chest, threatening to bubble over at any moment. It feels stupid to get emotional about it all. He’s not the kind of person who puts much weight on how you spend a holiday, he never has been. But he thinks, maybe, that was just his way of dealing with how much the holidays make you realize the empty places in your life. Like if you don't follow any kind of routine on a holiday, the sadness won't be able to find you. Thanksgiving is easy, even with the routine. It's a lot easier to forget about your feelings when you’re in the middle of helping someone. And this year it was especially easy, getting to hide away with MJ for the evening. But Christmas is different. It always has been. It almost feels wrong to fully enjoy a Christmas. Like moving on and building new traditions with new people is erasing the empty places from his life. 

And he knows how crazy that sounds. Like when he’d admitted it out loud to Ned and MJ he heard himself sounding crazy. And they confirmed his suspicion that the feeling is bullshit, even though it's pretty normal for people who’ve lost family members. It just feels like a sort of whiplash. Like all of the sudden the empty spaces in his life are filled. Ben and his parents not being there doesn't sting nearly as much, and that feels wrong. The craziest thing is that, for Peter, it feels like they are there, even when they’re not. Like, he doesn't know why exactly but he’s _ sure _ that he wouldn't know that Pepper’s hugs are distinctly _ mom _hugs if he didn't remember what mom hugs are supposed to feel like. When Pepper hugs him, just like when May hugs him, it’s like he can literally feel his Mom’s embrace again, and she’s there with him for a moment. And likewise with the ever present security of just knowing that Tony is always looking out for him. Like there’s nothing he can fuck up so badly that Tony won't be able to help him fix it. He’s sure he wouldn't know that's what it's like having a dad if he didn't remember Ben being that for him growing up, and his dad being that for him when he was little. And whenever he calls Tony in a panic about one thing or another, his calm ‘I can handle this’ attitude sounds like Ben’s voice in his head. 

It’s this weird mix of new but undeniably right that makes him feel like he can finally breathe again after years without oxygen and then he feels guilty for literally being about to breathe when so many people he loves can’t. And okay, he knows that he’s already like, pretty emotional as a person. Like, he definitely cries during sad parts in movies and every once and a while he’ll shed a few tears over a well crafted Subaru commercial, and yeah sometimes he’ll bite into a really delicious cookie and cry because he’s overwhelmed by the fact that something that good can just _exist_, but he’s pretty sure it’s not normal to wanna cry every time he sees that Tony or Pepper have marked down his next dentist or whatever appointment on their calendar. But he definitely _ does. _He’s not even sure why. It’s just something about the simultaneous feeling of being wanted and the relief that May isn’t all by herself in trying to make sense of his mess that just overloads his system. It’s all 100% A LOT for him to try and process. He starts with what he knows for sure and normally pulls himself out of a thought spiral from there. 

He knows that having Tony and Pepper as pseudo parents is a good thing because he can't remember ever being this happy. And all he has to do is glance up at the open mouthed cackle May’s heaving out from her seat at the table to know that she is too. He knows that he’s never liked Christmas all that much and now he’s suddenly picturing himself making the trek from whatever school he ends up going to, all the way back here just to do what he’s doing right now, every year. He knows that he can’t picture a better group of people to hide out in a cabin in the middle of the woods in Connecticut with. So he holds that in his heart and he lets all the other feelings fall away. 

Plus, if he’s being honest, he likes the idea of being intentional with how they do this. Like if moving forward, Christmas is gonna turn into a Big Fucking Deal™ then he wants it to be a big deal because it’s full of little moments that represent all of their favorite things to do during the holiday. That way there is a piece of the holiday that is always that person’s contribution, even if they aren’t there anymore. 

“I like that idea,” Peter tells Pepper much to her delight. 

Moments later they’re all together, sat on the floor and in the sitting chairs closest to the tree, as Pepper passes each of them a neatly wrapped gift that Peter assumes are marked with their names. When he gets his; a long, slender and sleekly wrapped box, about the size of one that typically houses a board game, he notices right away that the only mark made on it spells out his name and nothing else. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, though it’s written a lot more legibly than most people write on the fly, so he doesn’t suppose he would, even if he does know the sender. He’s not sure what to think. 

“Who’s this from?” He holds out the green package in his hand for them all to see. 

The room’s occupants all turn towards it. Innocent head shakes and shrugs tell him that no one in the room wrapped the package to give to him. He frowns. 

“Friday where’d this come from?” he asks the room at large. 

“That gift was delivered to the Avengers Compound three days ago via Federal Express and was brought here with the rest of the Christmas gifts Ms. Potts asked to receive by today’s date. I am not sure of the original sender but I can confirm that all packages in the house are safe to open,” Friday’s voice sounds from the nearest speaker. 

Peter gives Tony a significant look. “Should I open it?” He asks unsure. 

Tony eyes the package wearily for a moment before shrugging. “If Fri says it’s safe, it must be. I don’t see why not,” he says as he looks up at Peter. “I’m kind of curious what it’ll be, to be honest.” 

“Me too,” Rhodey says from a few feet away. 

Peter looks at it again for a moment before his own curiosity gets the best of him. He rips through the packaging from where it’s been neatly taped down on the side and tears away a large stip of it only to be met with a secure, rather boring looking cardboard box. Then his eyes catch on something. At the corner of the uncovered area, a tiny triangle of white. He rips further to reveal a small card taped into the center of the box in a way that is obviously supposed to draw his attention. And again he pauses, looking up at the rest of the people in the room. Their eyes are glued to him, intrigued expressions flittering between his face and the mysterious package in his hands. 

He smiles nervously under their attention but brings his focus back down to the box in his lap. He gently tests the adhesive of the note and finds that it detaches easily. He flips it open and this time he _ does _ recognize the handwriting, right away. 

“It’s from MJ,” he announces to the room. A symphony of “oohs” sounds from around him as he turns back to the note. 

_ Peter, _

_ If you’re reading this, then somehow this package has made its way to whatever covert location you, May, and the Iron couple have decided to escape to for the holiday. I hope you’re all having fun and getting the rest that I know you all need. I miss you. I’m really glad that you and the mystical powers of The Prisoner of Azkaban convinced me to give myself a second chance at having a dad, but a week with the new Jones’ was probably a bit much. I’m pretty sure my little brother thinks I'm an actual witch, so...that’s a complete win. Mostly though, they’ve given me space and time to explore the city which has been really cool. The three of us should take a trip here sometime, I think you’d really like it. You seemed a bit too busy to enjoy it the last time we were here. ;) _

_ Anyway, I was thinking about our conversation on Thanksgiving and I thought maybe you’d like this. I admit to using slightly unethical methods of obtaining the resources for this gift, but I don’t think the offending parties will mind. I know you hate gifts but I promise you this only cost me $12, a lot of planning, and a concentrated 16 hours. Hopefully you like it. _

_ Merry Christmas dork, I hope you know by now that you’re loved. _

_ MJ _

When Peter finishes, he takes a second to himself before looking up. Reading the note in MJ’s handwriting spreads a warm buzz through his body that he doesn’t normally notice he gets when he’s around her, but it’s been a couple days since he’s seen her or talked to her so the feeling is distint as it picks up. He likes it. He likes that MJ has the ability to make even things that he normally doesn’t care for ten times more enjoyable. He doesn’t even care what the gift is, he knows he’ll love it. Okay, that’s not true, he does care what the gift is, but he still knows he’ll love it. The line about “slightly unethical methods” has admittedly piqued his interest if only because he knows MJ does have a taste for the unusual and has no compunctions about bending rules or telling white lies once she develops a plan. Thanksgiving is a prime example. So he’s curious. 

He sighs, notices as he shifts his gaze up to the rest of the room that he’s smiling a big goofy smile and tires to tone it down a little bit, lest he receive questions about the card’s content from the nosey adults that are sat around him. To his relief, they all seemed to have shifted their attention to their own gifts, curiosity satisfied by the knowledge that it was MJ that had snuck a package into their covert Christmas get-away cabin. 

With his attention back on the box, he makes quick work of prying the cardboard flaps of the side open. His insistent eyes are met with the side of a thick black frame and he pulls it out to see what _ picture _ of all things MJ could have thought important enough to frame. When it’s all the way out and his eyes have a chance to rake over the whole thing, his breathing stops for a moment. 

The picture itself is a drawing, one in MJ’s signature black-ink-pen-on-white-canvas style, that shows a series of three images. In the first panel is a picture that Peter recognizes instantly but hasn’t seen in years. It’s him as a toddler, held tightly in his mother’s arms, smiling dopily up at his dad’s bespectacled face as he looks down at Peter’s chubby cheeks with a half smile. The image is familiar, he knows it must be tucked away in some long forgotten scrapbook that May keeps in the basement storage unit of their apartment. He spares a thought for the frankly insane amount of trouble MJ must have gone through to find it. It's pretty unbelievable. Peter’s eyes scan over it in awe as he notices the absurd amount of detail MJ’s included on each person. His mom’s look of quiet contentment is perfectly depicted in her inky smile and closed eyes, his own freckles feature prominently on his baby face, and his dad’s messy windswept hair blown in every direction in a way that still somehow looks nice. He notices with a jolt to his heart that he looks more like his dad now than he’s ever noticed. As he looks at the picture he can see his defined jaw and crooked smile reflected in his dad’s face. The emotions that have been bubbling under the surface all evening start to seep into his throat as he moves to the next panel. 

This picture is one he knows well. He passes it where it’s framed on the wall in his apartment hallway everyday. The drawing shows a similar scene to the one before it, only this time, it’s an elementary school-aged Peter asleep in Ben’s arms as May walks beside them, caught looking at Ben with the most adoring gaze Peter’s ever seen from her. He swallows thickly as he pulls up the memory of the night this picture was taken. He’s sure it must have been when he was around 9 years old, his aunt and uncle had brought him to see The Lion King on Broadway, a treat that he was almost incapable of accepting because it just seemed too good to be true. He remembers loving it so much that by the time they’d made it from the theatre to their car in the nearest parking garage, he’d talked himself to sleep. Ben must have carried him up to his bed from the car when they made it home, and someone, probably a neighbor, had offered to take a picture of them. His heart aches as he stares down at their animated expressions and his soft sleeping form, his still young mind completely oblivious to everything that the next few years would bring him. He looks so innocent and May looks so young and Ben looks so much like he remembers him looking that it’s everything he has in him not to give into the tears that are gathering in his eyes as he moves to the final picture in the frame. 

Like the first two pictures, the third drawing shows Peter, and like he’s the marker of time past, this one shows him as a teenager, but instead of his parents or his aunt and uncle on either side of him, he’s framed by Tony and Pepper. The drawing has to be based on a picture taken recently because the _ him _ in it is a pretty good likeness of his actual current features. If it is based on a picture, he’s not sure he’s ever seen it, but he supposes MJ could have easily snagged it any of the times she’s been up to the compound with him. In any account, it’s a really lovely image. Tony is in one of his usual ridiculously expensive designer vests, eyes fixed off in the distance like he’s about to start a long-winded lecture on the science of repulsor blasts as he braces his arm around Peter. Pepper’s friendly smile is fixed on Peter where he’s clearly in the middle of a sentence, his hands gesturing in front of him, no doubt relaying to her his excitement about getting to learn the science of repulsor blasts. It’s sweet. Familiar, really. The kind of thing you’d easily be able to see in person if you were just at the right place in the compound at the right time. It never felt like all that much of a Moment™ when he was in it, but looking at the picture next to the other two in the frame it obviously held the same significance.

When he finally takes his time to pull back and look at the picture a whole, he sees that MJ has written a small inscription at the very bottom of the matte that holds the middle drawing. He squints down at it to read the tiny black inked script. 

_ It takes superheroes to raise a superhero. _

And that’s when he finally gives into the tears. It’s like a dam breaks inside him and suddenly he’s feeling all of the things that he’s been trying to parse through in his head for the past week. All of the unresolved feelings he’s been having about his parent’s and ben’s death and how to process this new family he’s found himself in, wash over him in one heavy wave. He looks down at the picture frame in his lap that somehow tells the complete story of his family and it’s like he can feel them all around him. All six of them, even though half of them are long gone. He feels them like a physical ache in his chest, insistent and intense. But it’s not a sad ache. He’s not sad. He’s so incredibly happy, because he finally gets it. He understands that this is always how it was gonna be for him. That it was never about all that he’s lost in his life, but really about all that he’s gotten because of it. 

The love that his parents had for him was perfect while he was little. He doesn’t remember much of anything except laughing a lot, and asking too many questions, and playing with fake chemistry sets while his parents were working in a real lab. And when May and Ben took over, they threw everything they had at making sure he was a normal, well adjusted and loved kid. They enrolled him in good schools, made sure he had good friends, forced him to enjoy nice things when they could afford it. Even when Ben passed, May was a fearless one-woman parenting force that almost recklessly advocated for his well being and happiness. It was everything he could have asked for and more. But then he got bitten by a radio-active spider and started saving lives as a side hustle and his life became more than anyone could ever handle on their own. And almost as soon as it happened he was given _ Iron Man and Pepper freaking Potts _ as stand-in parents on weekends, holidays, and every other summer.

He lets the tears fall in heavy drops down his face as he nearly chokes around his smile. The picture in his hands is evidence of every last ounce of love that’s been poured into him for the past 16 years of his life. Each moment that’s captured holds a special kind of significance, not because of what it shows on it’s own but what it says as one big picture. This family, _ his _ family, is not going to stop changing for as long as he doesn’t stop changing. Life is weird and complicated. He can walk up walls and lift of cars with no effort. There’s never going to come a point in his life where things aren’t a little bit out of the ordinary. That’s always been true for him. 

But now he can finally see that as a good thing. That’s just how it has to be. And luckily, the universe has given him, like, the absolute best of the best in terms of people to help him navigate things. _ It takes superheroes to raise a superhero. _ His minds helpfully supplies him. 

MJ had to have known all along what she was doing when she decided to draw this for him. She knows that he’s been struggling to work through all the newness of his Iron Family™ as she calls it. She has listened to him stumble through a couple half-ass attempts at explaining his clusterfuck of a thought process about it all. And even though he’s a mess, he knew that she’d understood him well enough. But this is—this is next level understanding. This is the kind of understanding you can only get when you really know someone at their core. Like if you’ve spent half your life just observing the way a person thinks and reacts and behaves. MJ had snooped through his basement storage unit and sneakily snagged pictures from his hallway and snapped photos at the compound all for the express purpose of making this drawing for him. So he could see in it what he couldn't understand otherwise. 

And it’s obvious to Peter that _ of course _ MJ knows him like this. MJ is the most observant and attentive and ridiculously caring person he’s ever met, despite what she so ardently tries to convey. She is all sarcastic comments and arms length friendship and eye rolls until the second she thinks that you might be in any kind of emotional or physical danger and then all of the sudden she’ll move heaven and earth for your safety. That’s when you find out that it’s all a ruse, that she’s actually completely and totally invested in her relationships. He knows this about her. So he knows that she must know how much a gift like this would mean to him. How much having this visual literally drawn up for him would help him make peace with all the changes he’s dealing with. He knows that she knew what she was doing with every line of a face, every curve of a smile. It was all for him. _ I hope you know by now that you are loved_, she had said. 

Peter brings a hand up to wipe away the tears rolling down his face, eyes still fixed on the picture in front of him. 

Peter has known MJ for two and a half years. During that time her position in his life has grown a hell of a lot. He’s regarded her as a classmate, decathlon team captain, expert on true crime, best friend, and Spider-Man co-worker. He’s known for almost the full duration of their friendship that she is an extraordinarily intelligent, witty, kind, and curious person. He knows that she is a coffee person on weekends only, but drinks tea like a fiend during the week, always with two sugars but no cream. He knows about the little notebook she keeps in her backpack that’s full of little nice things she sees happen while she’s walking around the city and he knows that she feels very strongly about the way the writers of Friends handled Ross and Rachel’s relationship. Peter has a very thick and organized file of information regarding one Michelle Joslyn Jones tucked away in his brain for whenever he needs it. And as he stares down at the masterpiece of a drawing in his hands, he’s not sure how, in all his extensive research, he could have possibly missed the fact that he is totally, completely and irrevocably in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ's gift was inspired by this incredible drawing by taterdraws on Tumblr. Go reblog it and tell them how awesome it is!!!
> 
> https://taterdraws.tumblr.com/post/179427416490/you-know-what-i-love-peter-parker-and-his


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last update was crazy long so this one is a bit shorter. Now we're getting to some fun stuff. 
> 
> As always comments are fuel. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiders-n

**VI.**

**March 21st, 8:29am.**

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : hey dork are you awake yet? _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ ya _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗:_ pepper woke me up so I could have breakfast with everyone before we go our separate ways until showtime _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗:_ why? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : i ran into a problem _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : i don't really want to wear my wedding outfit on the subway to the venue bc gross so i was thinking i’ll just bring it with me and change there. Is there somewhere I can change that isn’t a bathroom stall? _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ ya that’s fair _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ i'm sure there’s somewhere you can change that isn’t a bathroom stall _

Peter 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ let me ask pepper _

Peter looks up from his phone to where the rest of the wedding party, the bride and groom included, are enjoying a specialty wedding day breakfast of bagels, coffee, and a couple of trays of mixed fruit he’s pretty sure May picked up after her morning run. Pretty much everyone is half asleep after staying up until 2am celebrating Tony and Pepper’s mutual last night as unmarried people which, from what Peter observed when he’d arrived at the Connecticut house at midnight after patrolling almost all evening, involved a lot of themed drinking games and gossiping about celebrity crushes from both sides of the aisle. Peter himself had gone to bed, or at least tried to go to bed, around 12:30. The festivities went right on despitehis absence. He was woken up at least once to someone singing Love Is A Battlefield loudly and exuberantly from the downstairs level of the house. He’s not sure if the performance was from the bridesmaids or groomsmen but he can only assume both were emotionally wrecked by the rendition. Today the group is a lot less spirited, most are fighting off hangovers, and the ones that aren’t—May, Natasha, and Rhodey—are doing their best to take care of those that are. 

Peter is mostly just trying to stay out of everyone’s way, which is the general approach he plans on tackling the day with. Still, it’s hard not to feel a bubble of nerves and excitement when he thinks about the fact that in less than 12 hours he will be a part of one of the biggest and most highly anticipated pop-culture events of the decade. Especially when he looks around at the table’s occupants and remembers that he gets to do it all with them. Family and friends and childhood idols turned mentors all wrapped up into one weird tacky pajama clad package. 

His eyes lock onto Pepper who, to her credit, is wearing her hangover and dorky PJ’s like they’re couture as she slathers her untoasted everything bagel with peanut butter. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the combination. 

“Pep?” He cuts across the quiet smattering of morning conversation that’s broken out. She looks up right away like she’d been startled out of a thought, wide eyes gazing over in his direction, clearly unsure if it was he or Bruce who’d called to her. He flashes a little smile to let her know it was him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Her surprise melts into a soft look as she shifts in her seat, bringing her knee up to rest her face against as she looks at him sleepily. “It’s not you, i’m just tired,” she says over a yawn. Her body slumps down but her eyes are bright and attentive as she smiles at him. “What’s up, kiddo?” 

“I have a question,” he begins, picking up a grape and tossing it into his mouth. “But I want to preface it by saying that I know I should probably already know the answer after the many, many briefings we’ve all attended about today.” He flashes his most charming smile. “But I honestly can’t remember, so...I have a question.” 

Pepper sighs a loud exhausted breath before looking back at him. “What’s up, Peter?” 

He smiles again. “There is a place other than the restroom for someone to change their clothes at the venue right?” 

Pepper’s face scrunches into a frown from where it’s resting against her knee. “Peter. You and all of the rest of the groomsmen are getting ready in the Groom’s suite. That’s like 70% of what you’re supposed to remember, please don’t tell me you forgot that.” Her exasperation is obvious, and had this been a year ago, Peter might have been nervous that he's accidentally angered her, but he knows Pepper well enough now to know the difference between stressed-exasperated and angry-exasperated. This is definitely the former, which he thankfully has more experience in navigating. 

Peter shakes his head. “No. I definitely remember that. I’m not asking for me. MJ texted me and is worried about wearing her outfit on the subway because she doesn’t want to mess it up. But she’s not completely sure she’s gonna have somewhere to change and leave her bag and whatnot,” he explains. 

“Oh,” Pepper says, picking up her head and looking off into the distance in concentration. “I guess she doesn’t really have a room at the hotel, does she?” She thinks aloud. “The block of suites we reserved for out-of-town guests this weekend are all already assigned but I can call the hotel and see if there are any rooms outside of our block that haven’t been booked yet…” she trails off, pursing her lips as she puzzles something out. 

Peter’s phone buzzes again. He looks down. 

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : Oh god Peter, don’t bother Pepper about this, it’s not THAT big of a deal. _

He feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he reads. He was already thinking that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to bring this to Pepper when she is supposed to be relaxing and preparing to get married by the end of the day. He lifts his gaze back over to where she is clearly putting a lot of effort into solving the problem and opens his mouth to tell her not to worry about it when she speaks again. 

“Do you know if she’s got any plans leading up to the wedding?” 

Peter furrows his brows and purses his lips in thought, trying to rack his brain for anything MJ related that has to do with today. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I can ask. Why?” 

Pepper smiles at him, all signs of her sleepy hangover forgotten. “Just problem solving. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.” 

That catches Tony’s attention from where he had been previously very focused on drinking his coffee and chatting lazily with Happy and May. “What’s going on? There’s a problem?” He asks in a tone that’s more curious than worried. The rest of the table’s occupants turn towards the two of them at Tony’s question, all conversation halting in search of an answer. 

“No problem.” Pepper says, calmly. “At least I don’t think so. I guess, let’s see.” She shifts so she’s sitting cross legged on the dining room chair and looks up to the top of the room. “Friday, can you call MJ for me?” 

“Of course, ma’am.” Friday responds. 

“Thank you.” 

Peter’s eyes bulge out of his head. If MJ hadn't wanted him to bother Pepper with her problem he’s not entirely sure she’ll love being called by the bride herself to talk about it. A ball of anxiety roars to life in the pit of his stomach as he hears the line ring over the speakers in the house. He can't help but feel betrayed by Pepper, who looks cool as a cucumber while broaching a social boundary that Peter has yet to break with MJ: calling her without warning. He swallows thickly and tries to employ rationality to his thought process. 

Okay. Pepper Potts, his...guardian of sorts is calling MJ, his best friend and hardcore crush, to talk about MJ’s wardrobe problem which Pepper presumably has a solution to. He can...he can handle that. He doesn't even have to be involved. He just has to let them do their thing and deal with MJ’s inevitable annoyance at him going against her direct wishes and bothering Pepper, which, in his defense, he did before the wishes were expressed. He’s _thinks_ he should be good. Then MJ answers the phone. 

“Hello?” MJ’s voice sounds hesitant from the other side of the line. Peter can literally hear his heart beating against his ribs.

Pepper smiles wide. “Hey sweetie, it’s Pepper. You’re on speaker with all of us at the breakfast table.” 

“Oh,” MJ says and he can tell she’s surprised, but she’s always incredibly quick on her feet so she recovers after only one beat. “Hey everybody.” 

Everyone offers a unique greeting at the same time that culminates into a massive friendly _ something _ that sounds like a good morning. 

“On a scale from 1-10 how hungover is everyone?” she asks cheekily. Peter grins down at the table delighted, as always, at MJ’s ability to fit comfortably into his life. His heartbeat regulates once again in his chest. 

The general consensus is about a five which, given their crew, is actually pretty manageable. 

Pepper let’s everyone answer before she talks again. “I’m hovering over about a 2, myself. I think the excitement is helping,” she answers cheerfully. 

“Yeah I bet!” She says. Nobody else would be able to catch it but Peter can hear her nerves as she goes on. “I’m glad you guys had fun last night. Peter said the parties were very loud.” 

“Yeah, it was great,” Pepper responds in a friendly tone before pressing forward. “Listen honey, Peter was telling me you’ve run into a bit of an issue with finding a place to change at the venue this evening.” 

“Oh. Um, yeah. I’m sorry he bothered you with that. I told him not to. I was just trying to figure it out. Don’t worry about it, though. I’m sure you’ve got _much_ bigger fish to fry,” MJ rushes to say, clearly horrified that she’d caused the bride any more stress than necessary on her wedding day. Peter blushes in his seat as everyone at the table takes a couple glances at him at the mention of his name. 

Pepper’s ever present smile never leaves her face as she listens to MJ ramble through her apology. When she stops talking, Pepper shakes her head the tiniest bit. “You’re never bothering me, sweetie,” she starts, kindly. “Actually I was wondering what your plans are for this morning and afternoon?” 

“Uhh…” MJ clears her throat. “Well I’m eating breakfast now. I don’t really have anything planned for the day besides getting ready for tonight.” She pauses for a moment and seems to decide on continuing. “I’ve never exactly been to an event like this before so I'm a bit out of my depth. I have a vague idea of what I want to look like but I figured I’d give myself all day to work out how to get there. Why? Do you need me to help with something?” She answers sincerely. 

Peter knows that she’s been researching her look for tonight for basically the past 8 months, trying to find the perfect fit. She’s been bouncing ideas off of he and Ned in their group chat off and on but hasn’t confirmed what she’s going with and if he’s being honest the anticipation has been killing him. It’s MJ so he’s not sure what to expect. Obviously she’s gorgeous, so he’s sure whatever she’s chosen is going to make him forget how to breathe, but again, it’s _ MJ _ so it really could be anything. He doesn’t blame her for spending so much time figuring out her look, though, because if his wasn’t carefully crafted for him by Tony, then he’d be just as obsessed with what to wear too. 

Across the table, Peter can tell how touched Pepper is at MJ’s readiness to help because her smile gets wider at the question. “Well, if you’re interested, you’re more than welcome to come hang out with the girls and I as we get ready. The bridal suite has plenty of room for you to change and we have make up artists and nail technicians and hair stylists coming in all throughout the day to work on the wedding party that can probably help you execute your vision,” she offers. 

The other end of the line is quiet for a couple seconds and Pepper obviously takes that to mean she’s said something wrong because she looks over at Peter nervously before speaking again. “I mean, May and Natasha will also be there so you won’t just be in a room full of people you don’t know. It’s actually just the three of us,” Her eyes glance across from her to where her two other bridesmaids, her cousin and her best friend from high school, are sitting next to Rhodey, listening to the exchange with encouraging smiles. “And then two others that I think you’d probably like.” She finishes carefully. She waits a beat and then can’t seem to help but add. “Only if you’re interested.”

MJ still doesn’t respond for a good couple of seconds and Peter can see Pepper almost holding her breath, expression pulled down into an anxious frown and he finds himself mirroring it as the silence hangs between them all. 

“Oh wow,” MJ’s voice finally sounds from the other side of the line. “That’s—Pepper you and Tony are already being so gracious by just inviting me to this wedding to begin with. I know this is going to be a huge night. I don’t want to be in the way while you’re all doing your wedding party things. You deserve to have a little time to yourself with just your closest friends and family before all the pomp and circumstance of the actual event,” she says, voice a little breathless. 

Peter can tell she’s completely overwhelmed by the invitation. He’s honestly a little taken aback by it, himself. Pepper has always been unbelievably generous to Peter and his friends, whether it’s been helping with resumes, or coaching SAT Prep sessions in her office, or volunteering SI to host a number of students from his school every month for an educational field trip. She’s always been willing to lend her position and expertise whenever it’s needed. And he knows that she is particularly fond of MJ after receiving her own copy of the drawing MJ’d done of Peter with she and Tony for Christmas. All he has to do is glance over to the fireplace where the print of the drawing is framed and resting gently against the wall to know that it clearly meant a lot to all three of its subjects. But even knowing that, he’s still caught off guard by the situation. Pepper inviting MJ to come be a part of whatever carefully crafted pre-wedding routine she’s worked out is such a significant sign of genuine trust that he’s kind of breathless too. 

Tony seems to sense that both Pepper and Peter are overthinking how to respond so he takes the first step for them. “Okay well first of all, it is so bold of you to assume that either Pepper or I would ever be gracious enough to invite anyone to an event that’s costing us over a couple thousand dollars per person,” he remarks, cracking a smile as he rolls his eyes. “I genuinely don’t know where you got the impression that we’re just being gracious because I’m pretty sure you know, because you’ve either been here or to the compound every other weekend since October, that we are not a particularly gracious set of people. We invited you for the same reason we invited everyone else. We want to be surrounded by the people we love when we make these vows to each other,” he finishes, simply. 

Pepper’s wearing her usual confidant smile by the time he stops talking and she picks up from there. “And I’m inviting you to spend the day with us because I want to be surrounded by people I love while I get ready. There’s no magical circle of closeness you need to be within in order to enjoy a spa day and beauty treatment with us. Plus you’ll get an inside view of the makings of the ‘wedding of the century’ or whatever the fuck _ People _ called it last week. I'm sure there will be plenty of crises you can sketch me in.” 

Peter can hear MJ let out a small laugh through the speakers. “So what you’re both saying is: I should pull my head out of my ass and come have fun with you guys?” She says dryly. Peter’s smile is so big it hurts. 

“Bingo—”

“Yes—” 

Tony and Pepper answer at the same time before Tony leans back and gestures for Pepper to continue. 

“Something like that,” she replies through a smirk. “I might even be convinced to award 10 points to Slytherin if you bring me a slice of chocolate ganache cheesecake from Junior’s. It's my hangover cure.” 

“I can probably make that happen. What time should I be where?” MJ asks and Peter can practically hear her grin. 

“I’ll have FRIDAY send you the wedding party information packet. It tells you everything you’ll need to know about where to go and who to talk to and what to say.” Pepper’s expression shifts a bit and she bites her lip hesitantly before continuing. “This goes without saying, but obviously you know there is a bit of a greater security risk for us than most, even celebrity weddings have, so just...be careful with the information once you have it,” she says, seriously. 

If MJ is intimidated by the responsibility, she doesn’t show it. “Noted. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, sweetie. Friday’s sending the packet now. I’ll see you later on today.” Pepper’s voice is back to light an airy as she wraps up the phone call and says her last goodbye. When the line disconnects she looks back over at Peter, smile content. “Problem solved.” she tells him and then turns her attention back to her everything-including-peanut butter-bagel. 

“That was really sweet.” Peter responds quietly. 

Pepper just shrugs and takes a bite, eyes rolling back in pleasure at her first mouthful. “It’s not a problem. I like MJ.” 

Peter just swallows, unsure of how to put into words how much what Pepper has done means to him. Mostly because he knows that the fact that he is in love with MJ is a big part of it. MJ being treated almost like family by his actual family feels a bit like everything he’s ever wanted and also everything he knows he won’t be able to ever have. He’s spent the past 3 months trying not to spend every spare moment he has thinking about how perfectly MJ fits into his life or how well they know each other or how right it feels when they do anything that could even remotely be seen as romantic. But it’s the platonic connection they have that stops him from letting himself fantasize about being anything more than friends with her. He knows, intimately, how hard it is to find friends that just get you the way you need them to. For him, it’s even harder than most because so much of who he is has to be hidden. But he’s built the kind friendship with both Ned and MJ that allows him to be open and honest and vulnerable about all the chaos that he lives with and he can’t afford to lose either one of them.

Plus there’s the added bonus that any person who dates him is automatically signing up for a lifestyle that’s 10x more dangerous than he could ever ask anyone to take on for him. He’s Spider-Man. He’s training to be an Avenger. He’s learning how to handle real, honest to god threats. Eventually —and everyday that he’s out patrolling the streets he feels it— he’s going to be making some pretty powerful enemies. And that’s going to put everyone he loves at risk. And of course there is a certain amount of that he can’t control. A certain amount of that just comes with the superhero territory. But there is a decent amount that he can control. He can choose not to have a serious romantic relationship. So he doesn’t let himself think about how right it feels every time he talks to MJ and he doesn’t say anything more to Pepper about how much he appreciates what she’s done. Instead he focuses on his fruit in front of him and lets himself feel excited for what his day with Tony and the other groomsmen will look like. 

His phone buzzes once more as it rests on the table. He looks down to see MJ has sent a message in invisible ink and his heart rate spikes. He swipes his thumb over the message to see what it ways. 

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : might fuck around and sob for a couple minutes. _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ what’s the matter _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : i think i’m just _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : overwhelmed _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : like…….they both said they invited me bc they love me. I really thought they just invited me bc you wanted to have ned and i there to hang out with. _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ noah fence but i’ve been trying to tell you and ned how fucking crazy it feels to be loved by tony and pepper for like almost two full years. now you officially know. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : i’m soft but don’t tell anyone. _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ told you a long time ago, ur secret’s safe with me, Em. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it halfway through dude! Since you made it this far, you should comment! I wanna know how you're liking it and what you're interested to see next!


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) as promised, iron dad and iron mom 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ Spiders-n

**VII.**

** _March 21st, 3:42pm_ **

“I know _ exactly _ where it is. All I’d have to do is zip Upstate to the compound and get it.” Tony checks the ridiculously expensive watch on his wrist and then looks at where all his groomsmen are staring at him incredulously. “I have time!” He insists. 

“Tony, what is so wrong with the pocket square you already have? I thought you and Pepper agreed it was the best one out of the final three,” Rhodey’s exhausted voice sounds from the opposite end of the bed as Peter. Bruce and Happy are sitting between them, all four men fully dressed in their hand-picked and perfectly tailored, designer tuxedos. They’d been summoned by a very frantic-looking Tony who’d spent the past couple of minutes loudly complaining that his pocket square looked awkward with the rest of the accessories he’d chosen for today’s look. 

“I already told you. It looks awkward with my cufflinks and tie,” Tony repeats. 

Rhodey’s eyes fall shut. “No.” He opens his eyes again, voice a practiced calm. “I know that. But why do you think that is?” 

Tony squawks. “I don’t know. Maybe Mercury is in retrograde or something. I have no idea.” He gestures wildly to where the tuxedo is laid out on a chaise lounge surrounded by its accompanying accessories, offending pocket square included. “But look at it? It’s a monstrosity, Rhodey. I can’t get married in that.”

All four of them turn to examine the suit for the millionth time. Just like every other time, Peter has no idea what Tony’s registering as awkward. Every stitch of clothing on the seat looks like it was crafted by God himself. _ Custom Gucci has a way of looking like that, _ he thinks to himself as he looks back up a Tony, who is staring at the ceiling and shaking his head like he can’t believe this is happening. 

“Tony, you’re overthinking this, man. It looks incredible. You and Pepper did a fantastic job with your creative design for this whole thing. That outfit has been greenlit by every single one of the executive stylists you hired, the people at Gucci, Anna Wintour, and _ GQ _ ’s most stylish man of the decade aka _ you _.” Rhody’s voice has a level of exasperation that he reserves for when Tony is being his most unreasonable. Peter is very familiar with it.

“Exactly,” Tony says pointing an accusatory finger at Rhodey. “I was pressured into choosing this one over the other one. It was the clear choice...” 

Bruce finally offers Rhodey some back-up in his offense. “I think you made the right decision, buddy. People are going to be talking about how incredible to guys look for the rest of time.” 

“Plus I feel like the velvet contrasts well with the silk base of the suit and makes the floral embellishments pop,” Peter tries to add to the effort. 

There’s a murmur of agreement from all of the other men in the room. Tony eyes the suit again and seems to consider it for a moment before turning to Peter. 

“Yeah?” He asks, unsure. 

Peter nods confidently. 

There’s a lengthy pause as Tony meanders over to the chaise lounge and picks up the square cloth to examine it closer. He rubs a thumb over the smooth material and looks skeptical. “That is what I liked about it originally…” He ventures. 

The groomsmen are all silent as they wait for him to relent. All four of them know him well enough to know that it’s only a matter of time before he realizes he was right all along. It’s everything inside of Peter not to roll his eyes. This is the third crisis they’d run into since they separated from the bridal party that morning. First, it was a mixup with the delivery of shoes for the groomsmen. Happy had been sent to clear that one up, but didn’t end up returning until an hour later because he forgot his ID and the hotel wouldn’t let him up without it. Tony had to rescue him. Then, the hair stylist that Tony had flown in from Malibu to give them all a “wedding day touch-up” was held up by the shitstorm of reporters that has congregated outside the hotel. Tony refused to let any of the other hair stylists that were available come near his head, so Peter had the pleasure of going to rescue the Malibu one. 

All of this would have been fine, but the delays set them a little behind schedule, although only by about 30 minutes because Pepper had geniusly planned for them to fuck up a least two hours worth of the day. So they’d been running late ever since; something that Tony has wholeheartedly ignored every chance he’s gotten, including but certainly not limited to fabricating a fashion emergency an hour before he’s supposed to be on the roof, posing for Vogue Magazine with Pepper. 

“Fine,” Tony quietly concedes. “I’ll put it on. But if it looks bad, I’m flying to the compound and getting my back up and no one can stop me.”

The rest of the men all breathe a sigh of relief and Peter’s pretty sure he hears Rhodey whisper “thank fuck” as they clamber up off the bed. Peter’s almost out of the door and into the main sitting area of the suite when Tony speaks. 

“Pete, hold up for a second.” 

Peter swings around in place and fixes Tony with a tentative smile. “What’s up, Tony?” He says in a voice completely giving away his annoyance with the whole ordeal. Tony just smiles as he starts expertly buttoning up his shirt. 

“I need you to do me a favor.” 

Peter blinks. “I swear to god if you ask me to discreetly slip out and swing over to the compound to find your other pocket square I will web your mouth shut.” 

Tony’s smile widens. “So you do have your web-shooters, then?” 

“_Tony._” 

The man lets out a laugh as he tucks his shirt into the slacks he’s now wearing. He’d been parading around the suite in Iron Man boxers and a Metallica t-shirt for two hours. “I’m just messing with you.” He reaches down for his tie and turns to look pointedly at Peter as he starts tying it. “Are you finished getting ready?” 

“Yes. Why?” Peter asks curiously. 

Tony doesn’t answer. “You’ve been cleared by one of the make-up artists?” he asks. 

Peter nods in confirmation. “They concealed my dark circles,” he adds. 

Tony seems to be satisfied by the information because when he straightens his now tied bowtie in the mirror he looks at Peter’s reflection. “Okay. I need you to run something over to Pepper in the bridal suite,” He says finally. 

Peter frowns without realizing it. “What am I running?” He asks. 

Tony slides the tuxedo jacket on before walking over to the dresser that has all his jewelry strewn across it, waving for Peter to follow him. He picks up a small blue something and offers it to Peter who takes it delicately. He takes a second to look at it and then smiles. It’s a small replica of an arc reactor, about the size of a quarter, fastened to a hair pin. He recognizes it, or at least he recognizes the pendant. He’s seen Tony wear it as a cufflink almost anytime the man has to wear a suit. This has clearly been modified so that Pepper can wear it in her hair. He looks up at Tony with a creased brow but his smile stays resolutely on his lips. “What’s this?” 

Tony’s already working on today’s specially made floral cufflinks when he glances back up at Peter. “Pepper has been so nervous about everything running smoothly today that she’s been having bad dreams about everything going up in smoke.” He grabs the oh-so-problematic pocket square and starts arranging it in his pocket. “A common thread in them has been her phone magically running out of battery halfway through a disaster, rendering her completely unreachable. So I made one of my arc reactor cufflinks into a portable charger that she can keep in her hair just in case.” He explains as he straightens his jacket a few times. 

Peter looks down at the little gadget in his hands and just makes out the line that runs across the top. He pulls it lightly and, like he’d suspected, there is a phone charger protruding out underneath it. _ That’s awesome. _He thinks to himself as he inspects the engineering a little further. 

“You guys were right, I look incredible,” Tony announces as he gives himself a once over in the mirror. “Anyway,” He turns around and points to the charger. “I’ve had the cufflink for like 10 years now so it’s old, but with this modification, it’s new. I’m only gonna let her borrow it for the evening and—” 

“It’s blue.” Peter finishes for him, understanding washing over him as he sings the rhyme in his head. His smile gets wider without his permission. “This is very clever, Tony.” He admits. “This almost makes up for the groomzilla you’ve been all day.” 

“Yeah well,” Tony frowns and fusses over the pocket square again. “I’m just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly.” 

“Right,” Peter says dryly. He starts walking towards the door again. “I’m gonna go bring this over to Pep. Please try not to invent any other emergencies while I'm gone,” he says as he walks out. 

The walk from where the venue has put the groomsmen to where they’d housed the bridal party is a bit of an adventure in the huge underground convention center portion of the Hotel. Peter gets turned around after getting off an escalator and finds himself in front of the double doors to a ballroom labeled H, which is currently hosting a meeting for a group called _ Omne Trium Perfectum _which, he can only guess, is not the where the bridal party is getting ready. He takes a second to regroup, glancing at notes app on his phone where he’d brilliantly written down the room numbers of both the groom's suite and bridal suite. Somehow he’s got to get from ballroom H to room 27A. The map Pepper had told him repeatedly to bookmark on his phone was long lost to a barrage of emails and he mentally curses at his past self as he tries to find any sign of where to go. 

A ways off in front of him there’s a digital directory that labels the floor and points the reader in the direction of the different ballrooms located on it. And then the display shifts to a new slide that helpfully says “Numbered suites one floor down.” 

Once he vacates the floor and ventures onto the one below it, it only takes him a moment to come up to the door that clearly belongs to the bridal party, if the two security guards flanking it are anything to go by. 

The two officers let him pass easily when he flashes his wedding party ID, a proverbial backstage pass that had been given to everyone in or connected to the wedding party upon departure for the venue from the Connecticut house this morning. He knocks on the door absentmindedly as he fidgets with the plastic square pass in his hand. 

When the door opens and Peter looks up he’s met with MJ’s surprised expression. 

“Peter!” MJ says, her eyes, wide and lined in inky black, travel over him as he stands awkwardly in front of her trying to think of something coherent to say. 

He blinks a couple times, tries to pry his eyes away from her face for just a moment to give himself a chance at collecting his thoughts, but his eyes aren’t listening to him. She looks good, he notes. It’s as simple and as complex as that. She looks very nice, but not in the way that he’d imagined. He’d been expecting to finally see her final look for the evening, something polished and artsy — this isn’t that. This is — this is better than that. She’s sporting a full face of make-up; a natural look that played up her obvious good looks to a frankly absurd degree. All of the features of her face accentuated with the artistry of someone who clearly knows how to paint a picture. He wonders briefly if MJ had let the make-up artists Pepper hired do this for her, or if she herself created the masterpiece she’s effortlessly rocking. 

He’s seen her once or twice with make-up on, for internship interviews and, he remembers with a tiny annoying pang of discomfort, a couple dates with Brad. This make-up look takes those and literally steps on their neck. He knows that’s probably not true and that he’s just stupidly in love with her now so he’s really _ seeing it _ for the first time, but she’s wearing these false eyelashes that make her eyes look bigger and brighter underneath their shadow, and her lips are filled with some subtle gloss that makes Peter want to stare at them until his eyes can’t see anymore and _oh god_ he really needs to look away. 

He tears his eyes away from her face and they land very promptly on her body, because, _ of course they do_. He notices with a jolt that not only is she not wearing a fancy wedding outfit, she is very clearly dressed down at the moment, clad in a very tight, kinda low-cut tank top and a pair of _ his _fucking joggers that she stole in retaliation for never returning hers after the Thanksgiving mishap. His brain helpfully picks that moment to supply him with the thought that this is probably how she’d look during a lazy lounge-around-the-house-date and he thinks he might literally die if he lets himself dwell on that particular train of thought. 

_ Okay! Face it is. H_e looks resolutely back at her face. Her surprised expression has turned to one of confusion. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, still only holding the door half open like she’s not sure whether or not to let him in. 

He swallows down all of the embarrassing spluttering he knows he’s prime to do and instead tries to project the kind of confidence he thinks one of Tony Stark’s groomsmen would have and probably just ends up sounding like an idiot. “I have a gift for the bride.” He says through a smile he hopes is charming. 

“You got Pepper a gift?” She frowns out. 

“No, it’s not from me. Wait—” He panics for a moment all pretense of being anything near sauve out the window. “Fuck, was I supposed to get Tony and Pepper a wedding gift?” He asks, wide eyed. 

MJ rolls her eyes. “Peter, oh my God, come in.” She waves him inside, exasperatedly. He walks in silently, still panicking about the gift situation and about how good MJ looks and also, now that he’s already panicking about so many other things, apparently his brain thinks it’s the right time to remind him that he’s gonna be photographed for Vogue Magazine in less than an hour and suddenly he’s really warm in his tux. 

“Relax, dork. I don’t think you needed to get Tony and Pepper anything. I don’t even think they registered anywhere. I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that they’re just asking people to donate to a number of nonprofits in lieu of gifts.” She tries to reassure him, reading his expression correctly. 

At her words, he breathes a little easier, having only to focus on the other two sources of anxiety at war in his chest. His brain looks for something to say that’ll start a conversation and is blessedly gifted an oncoming whiff of lavender radiating from the other room. “Oh wow.” He comments earnestly. “It smells like springtime and hope in here.” 

A smile quirks MJ’s lips. “Yeah we’ve been getting spa treatments in here all day. Aroma therapy is supposed to help keep everyone calm.” 

He nods. “We had a full menu of spa treatments today, too.” 

“I can tell,” MJ remarks. “Your skin looks super clear. No eyebags.” She gives him another once over. “You actually look really nice. This tux really suits you,” she says, through a tiny smirk. 

Peter is torn between blushing at her compliment and rolling his eyes at her pun. He ends up doing both. Taking the topic of conversation as an opportunity to look at her again, his eyes moving from hair, wrapped up in her favorite patterned head scarf, all the way down to her fluffy-gray-socked feet. “You look nice too,” he ventures to say, moving his gaze up to her eyes. “Those are my pants.” 

“Not if I wear them better,” MJ retorts and really, she’s not wrong. Or at least Peter can’t think of any decent response other than the “Touché” that he all too easily offers her. He’s willing to bet that she’d wear anything better than him. She’d wear nothing better than him too but that’s neither here nor there. 

Mercifully that’s when Pepper decides to drift in from the other room, her plush white robe dragging on the floor, Iron Man slippers trudging against the expensive carpet as she reads the ingredients on the back of a granola bar, munching on a bite of it. “Do you guys think we’ll be able to find these in Nice tomorrow?” She mumbles through her mouthful, not looking up from the package in her hand. “I don’t think I can survive the entire length of my honeymoon without them, now that I know they exist.” 

“Pretty sure you could sneak some onto the flight with you if you’re careful enough. Since you guys own the plane and all,” MJ says next to him. 

Pepper smiles as she reads, turning her face towards MJ’s voice and then exploding into happiness when she sees Peter. “Kid!” She says, smiling delightedly at his surprise appearance. Her eyes scan dramatically over him and the smile on her face somehow becomes even wider as she sets her granola bar down and walks over to him. “You look so handsome,” she says, taking his face in her hands and studying it. “They did a great job on your face. You look so rested,” she finally says, bringing her hand down to straighten his tie in a way that’s so overwhelmingly motherly that Peter actually feels his heart flutter. 

And despite the warmth spreading through his chest he frowns. “Okay, are my eyebags really _ that bad _?” He asks, mock offended. 

“Yes,” MJ answers. “You look like Taylor Momsen in season 3 of Gossip Girl.” Peter shoots her a look that says “gee, thanks” and she just smiles at him. “But you do look very fresh-faced now. Picture-perfect.” 

His blush deepens under the weight of MJ’s perfectly painted eyes, but Pepper doesn’t seem to notice. Her smile is big and her eyes are watery when she rests her hands on his shoulders and looks at him softly. “I am so glad you get to be a part of today,” she leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you get to be apart of every day, but especially this one.” 

And maybe if he weren’t such a sap, he would be able to respond to that in a normal way, but it’s too hard to form a word around the lump in his throat. So he just smiles a small smile that’s just as watery as her eyes and hopes that it conveys his mutual gratitude. 

Pepper pulls back and looks at him again, grinning as she shakes her head. “So grown-up,” she mutters to herself and then turns to the direction of the room she’d come out of. “May come look at how handsome Peter is.” 

Peter rolls his eyes in response to Pepper’s shouted words and looks over at MJ for some sympathy but all he’s met with is a rare look of utter sincerity as she grins openly at May’s reaction when she walks into the room and sees him. 

“Oh my god!” May says, bringing a hand up to her heart like the picture in front of her is just too much for her to handle. “You look like you’re about 25 years old. Where did my baby go?” She remarks as she comes up next to Pepper. 

“Right?!” Pepper exclaims. “I can’t take it. Suddenly I'm remembering that graduation is just a year away.” 

“Ugh. It’s going too fast. I’m too young to have a kid in college,” May says, straightening his tie in the exact same way Pepper did a couple minutes earlier. 

“We both are,” Pepper agrees. 

Peter’s warm all over now, anxiety about having to be photographed quieted by the outpouring of love he’s feeling in a room full of three of his favorite people on earth. He tries to let himself just rest in it because he knows he’s terrible at letting himself have things like this, but the concentration of their adoration combined with everything else that’s been going on and will go on in the day is just too much. So, he changes the subject. 

“Don’t you guys have something better to do than stand around and fawn over how grown up I look?” He asks the pair in front of him and then looks pointedly at Pepper. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got somewhere to be soon,” he jokes through a smile. 

Pepper gives a tiny shrug. “Not really,” she responds, walking back over to her granola bar on the dresser. “Right now we’re all just kind of killing time until we’re ready to put on our dresses,” she takes a bite but doesn’t stop talking. “We’ve done all of our spa treatments, gotten our nails painted, our make-up done, our hair styled,” she gestures her french tipped nails to her face and hair.

Peter takes the opportunity to return their compliments. “Yeah I noticed,” he says looking between the three of them. “You all look gorgeous.” He leans closer into May to press a kiss against her head before swooping forward to grab a chunk of pineapple off of the fruit plate set out on the table. “Your hair is different. Did you get more red put into it?” He asks Pepper from around his mouthful, gesturing around his head for extra emphasis. 

“I did.” She turns her head so the curls fall back over her shoulders. “What do you think?” 

“I think that people are most likely not going to be paying much attention to Tony’s pocket square if you’re in the pictures with him,” he replies eyebrows raised. 

Pepper gives him a nervous look. “What’s wrong with Tony’s pocket square?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” he assures her. “But if he asks you, please tell him that the velvet brings out the embellishments in his tux.”

“Oh god, is he doing the thing where he’s making any excuse to put the suit on? He does that when he’s nervous…” She worries aloud. 

“Let's just say he's committed to looking his absolute best for you today.” Peter responds carefully. “Our day has been...eventful. I don't think we had quite the same getting-ready process. We definitely didn't have time to lounge around in stolen joggers before getting dressed.” He shoots a pointed look at MJ. 

“I already told you, they aren't yours if I wear them better,” she responds, eyes gleaming under her long lashes.

“That's not a fair, you wear _ everything _ better,” he says back without even registering his words. 

MJ’s eyebrows raise in surprise but her lips are a loose smirk. “I know. And I think you could stand to be a little more grateful that I let you wear all my clothes all the time.” 

Peter just rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Pepper. 

“My schedule gave us an hour-long cushion of time before we absolutely needed to be ready for pictures, but we didn’t end up needing it. Everything happened when it was supposed to,” she offers in explanation. 

“It did?” Peter asks, half surprised, half jealous. “That’s why you guys look like you’re having the world’s classiest slumber party?” 

“Pretty much.” Pepper admits. 

Peter pulls the ends of his mouth down in an impressed expression. “That's nice.” He looks around the gorgeous suite they’re in and imagines that bridesmaid may have been an easier job for him. He looks at Pepper again a little more serious. “How are you feeling?”

She purses her lips in consideration before responding. “Right now I feel hungry.” She takes another bite of her granola bar. 

Peter squints at her, disbelieving. “And you’re just...fine?” He questions. “You’re not freaking out at all?” 

Pepper shrugs casually in a way that strikes Peter as very suspicious. “It’s been fine so far,” she starts. “Why worry? I’ve already done everything I can to make sure it runs smoothly. Now it’s time for me to just sit back and enjoy myself.” 

He squints even harder. “MJ and May didn’t give you weed, did they?” He asks, only kind of joking.

Pepper frowns deeply, and then looks at May and MJ in a scowl. “You guys had weed this whole time while I’ve been over here fucking around with guided meditations and aroma therapy, like an idiot?” 

Both women look surprised at the line of questioning but don’t hesitate with their answers.

“I mean I don’t have any on me _ at the moment…” _May starts right as MJ says. “Listen… I can probably get my hands on some in under an hour. How thorough is hotel security?” 

Peter’s looks them both with a wide-eyed expression. He’s not sure what he was expecting them to answer, but he’s sure it wasn’t _ that_. He turns his attention back to Pepper. “So you haven’t been fine?” He clarifies. 

“No.” Her shoulders slump. “I’m anxious,” she finally admits.

“That’s understandable, getting married is scary,” he tries to comfort her.

“Getting married?” She looks at him with a frown before shaking her head. “Oh, no, honey i’m not nervous about _ that, _ ” she flicks her wrist dismissively. “I’ve been with Anthony Stark for 20 years, there’s nothing marriage can throw at me that we haven’t already almost killed each other over.” She shakes her head again. “I’m anxious about the_ wedding_.” 

“The wedding?!” Peter looks back at her, mouth agape. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been with Tony Stark for 20 years and you’re intimidated by a _ wedding _?” 

“It just feels risky, is all,” Pepper sighs out. “Pretty much every superhero in the world is going to be here today. What if someone uses that to their advantage? What if something happens and then it’s our fault because we just had to have everyone here?” 

Peter’s face softens and he can see May’s and MJ’s expressions mimic his out of the corner of his eye. 

“You guys all live together in the same building, what makes the wedding such a special target?” MJ’s voice sounds from where she’s standing, arms crossed over her chest, a couple feet away from Peter. 

“The compound is literally the most secure building on earth,” Pepper offers in response. 

“So is this hotel for the next twenty-four hours, Pep,” May chimes in. 

“And none of your guests are coming without knowing what they’ve signed up for. Some things are worth the risk,” Peter finishes. 

“But that’s just it. We’ve had treats. We always do because we’re celebrities and Tony’s Iron Man but we’ve had threats that are more specific than usual. People— guests— have been singled out by name. We’ve informed them and they don’t seem too concerned, they always travel with their own personal security, but still. I’m just...uneasy about the whole thing,” Pepper admits, like it’s been killing her to keep quiet about it. 

Peter can tell that this is supposed to be a big revelation, but he’d kinds sorta already overheard Tony mention it to Steve and Rhodey a couple weeks ago. The guests that have been singled out by name are all guests from Wakanda, which isn’t entirely surprising to him because the Wakandan government has been taking a lot of heat from alt-right fringe groups ever since uncovering the depth of their wealth to the rest of the world. Privately, he’s pretty sure that any security Tony and Pepper have hired for the wedding will likely be matched for the King and Queen alone, so he’s not terribly concerned either. Even still, he wants to be conscious of Pepper’s feelings. “Pep,” he starts. “It’s still worth the risk.” 

“But something could still happen. And I want to be prepared for anything.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I keep trying to run through all the ways I can prepare for the worst case scenario and I have this irrational fear that my phone is gonna die halfway through the evening and I won’t have it when I need it.” She rolls her eyes. 

Peter smiles a big, shit-eating grin at her.

Pepper looks at him affronted. “Don’t laugh at me! My battery health isn't what it should be.”

“You are marrying the right man” is all Peter can say in return as he fishes the hair clip out of his pocket and walks it over to her. She takes it from him with a frown, examining it for a couple seconds before looking up at him confused.

“What is this?” She asks, brow furrowed. May and MJ crowd in to get a look at it. 

“That is a gift from Tony,” he says, plainly. “He asked me to bring it to you.” 

Pepper looks at the clip and then back up at him again. “It’s an arc reactor hair clip.” 

Peter nods. “It’s Tony’s _ old _ arc reactor cufflink made into something _ new _ for you.” He says, still grinning. 

“What’s new about it?” 

“It’s a portable phone charger,” Peter explains.

Pepper’s mouth drops open as she looks back down at the clip in her hand. She reaches down to fiddle with it like Peter had when he’d found out about it and lets out a genuine gasp when she finds the charger plate. “And I can just wear this in my hair all night…” She murmurs to herself in amazement. 

Peter’s cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling, excited to let her in on the rest of the significance of the gift. “I’m under strict instructions to inform you that this hair clip is just a loan. Tony expects it back after today. But he doesn’t mind you _ borrowing _ it for a while.” 

Pepper looks at him curiously, clearly trying to puzzle out his weird emphasis on the word. When she gets it, Peter can practically see the lightbulb flicker to life above her head. 

“Oh my god. It’s blue, too. It’s all four at the same time.” She says quietly to herself. She looks at all three of them, tearing up again. “It’s old, new, borrowed, and blue,” she explains to May and MJ. They both offer open-mouthed nods as they get it. 

“And my phone won’t die,” Pepper says looking at Peter.

“And your phone won’t die,” he repeats in confirmation. 

Pepper turns her gaze to the ceiling for a moment, obviously trying to collect herself. “Oh God.” She sucks in a breath. “I think this might actually be happening, for real,” she says looking back at them. “I think I might actually marry this man,” Pepper says, nodding her head like it’s just hitting her. She smiles, and hides behind her hands for a long moment. 

When she takes them away she’s Pepper Potts again; calm, cool, and collected. A woman with a plan. And she’s got it handled. Whatever _it_ might be. “Okay.” She holds out the hair clip. “I need someone to find a way to put this in my hair without ruining Rochelle’s masterpiece. I’ve got a photoshoot in— ” She pulls back her fluffy white robe sleeve to check her watch. “20 minutes and a wedding in an hour and a half. It’s time for me to get into my dress” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise a wedding will happen in the next chapter hang tight! 
> 
> But also...I mean shit comments encouraging it might help me draft faster 👀


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
It's been a few weeks and although I am confident that I did the right thing in not posting this last week before i had the chance to refine it, i missed talking to you all! 
> 
> My gift to you is that part one of this scene will be given to you now and then an equally long part 2 will be posted on Thursday as a happy halloween. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr: Spiders-n

**VIII.**

**March 21st, 5:29pm.**

Peter isn't entirely sure why, but when Tony asked him to be one of his groomsmen, he wasn't expecting that part of his duties would include being photographed by Annie Leibovitz for Vogue Magazine. As it stands at the moment, he might have also underestimated just how much of an ordeal the wedding would be as a whole. He’s stupid really. It’s Tony and Pepper, they have designer potholders in their kitchen. Why would their wedding be anything less than the spectacle of a lifetime? 

Reality doesn't hit him all that hard until he’s standing off to the side with the rest of the wedding party while the bride and groom shoot what Peter is absolutely certain will be one of the most iconic photographs to grace the cover of any magazine in the history of ever. 

Pepper has never looked better in her life, of this Peter is sure. She’s a vision in white, custom Oscar De la Renta gown flowing around her like sheaths of sunlight as she walks forward, wind rippling through her curls with the movement, hand extended above her to Tony’s as he takes a step out of the Iron Man suit. He himself is clad in Gucci head to toe and is wearing a smile that might just be worth more than anything either of them have on. 

The photographer does her job and then some, making sure that the couple and all of the wedding party are thoroughly documented socializing in the rooftop garden. She snaps a picture of he and Pepper laughing at Tony’s expense while he tries to explain why he’d been so convinced his pocket square was awkward with the rest of his outfit and Peter’s pretty sure he overhears Pepper day something about making sure that one gets into the issue. It’s a lot. Peter’s probably never going to hear the end of it when the issue is released, but he’s not sure he can entirely bring himself to care. At the end of the day, even if he ends up looking like an awkward high schooler dressed up like James Bond for Halloween, at the very least he gets to be a part of something really special with his family, something he’s not been able to say in years, so. It’s worth it. 

Or at least that’s what he’s gonna tell himself when Flash inevitably starts calling him iron baby or something equally as dumb. 

**March 21st 6:17pm**

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : okay i know this is dumb but _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : i didn’t expect there to be quite so many famous people here _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : tony and pepper cannot possibly have a close personal friendship with all of these people _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ lol okay wait i may or may not know that one of your personal heroes is coming today _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _and i kept it close to my chest bc i wanted you to be surprised_

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _i won’t tell you who it is but let me know when you spot them_

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _Peter what _

_MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _what the fuck dude _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: _who is it? _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: 🙂 _ you’ll see _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪: 🙄

Peter puts his phone back into his pocket and straightens up. Behind the huge double doors to the ceremony hall, he can hear the buzz of the literally hundreds of excited guests making their way to their seats. The room he’s standing in with the rest of the wedding party is a bit small for his liking, but they’re only there for the next couple of minutes before it’s time to walk down the aisle. Tony and Rhodey disappeared shortly after the photoshoot wrapped up to wait in their own version of this room on the opposite end of the hall. He lost track of MJ when she’s slipped away from the rooftop garden after 15 minutes of silently wigging out over getting to meet the most famous photographer in pop culture to go back to the bridal suite and change into her outfit for the evening. He knows that MJ is sitting with Ned and his parents for both this portion of the evening and for the reception because he and May are both part of the wedding party and are sitting with Tony and Pepper at the head of the reception hall. He’s not sure when he’ll be relieved from his duties to go hang out with them, but he hopes it’s soon. 

He loves Tony and Pepper, more than, like, almost anybody, but the formality of this whole affair feels a little bit eye roll worthy if you ask him. Like most things associated with the Stark label, the wedding is a production from top to bottom. Right down to the part where everyone in the room will conveniently forget that the blushing bride and groom have been in love and living together for the past 10 years of their lives and the vows they say to each other are literally just a verbal confirmation to keep living exactly as they have been. And really, the chaotic bisexual leo in him would be totally okay with that, but the actual pactice of participating in the charade is a lot more ‘stand here at this time and smile’ than was expecting. He’s listened to so many run-throughs and survived so many rehearsals and ignored so many who-gives-a-fuck emails that now that he’s standing in his place, waiting for the powers that be to say the magic words and start the show, he’s admittedly less enthused than he could be. 

Peter’s not exactly an expert at love and romance—see his predicament with MJ for proof that that’s true—but he’s pretty sure Tony and Pepper have been married in every way except legally since 2010, so he’s not sure why they picked today of all days to mutually discover the value in traditionalism. The white dress and Pochebell Cannon are one thing, but he might actually lose his lunch if he has to sit through a minister asking _ Pepper freaking Potts _ to ‘honor and obey’ Tony’s dumb ass until death frees her. He’s sure they won’t actually do the whole ‘in sickness and health’ dance but he’s increasingly uneasy as the minutes pass and the legit-ness of what they’re about to do is driven home by Pepper’s appearance in the back of the room, fully dressed and ready to rock. Even in all the chaos, he smiles wide when he catches her eyes. She looks so nervous standing by herself at the back of the line they’ve formed that he momentarily considers abandoning his position next to Natasha to check on her. But then the music starts and someone in a headset that bitched at him earlier in the day for slouching and subsequently wrinkling his tux yells that it’s time to begin, and before he knows it he’s walking out into the ceremony hall, arms locked with Nat’s, trying to remember not to trip in front of 300 people. 

**March 21st 7:33 pm**

It takes about 20 minutes after the ceremony has concluded and Peter’s walked back up the aisle with Natasha for headset guy to allow the wedding party to proceed quietly into the reception hall to wait for the bride and groom’s grand entrance. Peter takes that time to collect himself because, despite being on the precipice of an eye roll all evening, Tony’s heartfelt promise to never judge Pepper for her weird obsession with Victorian lampshades and Pepper’s giggle-ridden vow to start calling him Iron Man more often in casual conversation had—shockingly—made Peter cry. He couldn't help it. The vows were so perfectly suited to them and their love for one another was so obvious that he literally couldn’t stop himself from getting weepy. He’s personally borne witness to both their silly banter and genuine disagreements, particularly those surrounding Iron Man. The idea that two people can make it work even despite the obvious complications that come with one of them being a superhero is really compelling. Plus they’re like...his parents. He’s a sap and he knows it. He’s sure he’ll have to answer for it when he catches up with Ned and MJ. 

He’s set on trying to find them first when he gets to the ballroom because he’s not sure what other groomsmen responsibilities he has for the night and he _ desperately _wants to see MJ’s outfit. He’d tried to find her in the audience as he stood up at the front of the ceremony hall, but the place was so packed that he hadn’t been able to able to see much of anything. He wants to see her, but at the same time he feels woefully unprepared. He’d barely remembered how to breathe just seeing her in full make-up, he knows he’ll be a complete mess when he sees her whole look. And that’s dangerous because he’s surrounded by people who not only know him well enough to recognize his inevitable lovesick heart eyes, but also know him well enough to give him shit for it. Nevertheless, he persists in his mission of finding his friends.

The path from the side room they’d been waiting in is a straight shot to the entrance to the reception hall, but Peter still has to flash his ID badge to enter, and the presence of the security guards placed at every doorway to the enormous ballroom reminds him of the threats Pepper had mentioned before the photoshoot. He makes a mental note to check in with the head of security at some point in the evening to make sure everything is going smoothly. 

Stepping into the reception hall is like stepping into a different dimension. Peter blinks a couple times at the complete juxtaposition between the overlit plain back hallway that he’d just been in and the ornately decorated dimly-lit room he’s standing in now. Everything about the day has had the over-the-top but undeniably classy Stark trademark that makes everything feel halfway between a fairytale and a museum. The ceremony hall was completely covered in flowers and twinkling lights from chandeliers and a string quartet and probably a million other little decorations that contributed to the romantic atmosphere. Everything was beautiful and expensive and _ very _Tony and Pepper. The reception hall did not disappoint the precedent set by the previous parts of the evening. From where he’s standing, Peter can see most of the wedding guests mingling about the numerous tables, each adorned with a barely contained explosion of flowers perched up high on a stand so that the tables occupants can still see and talk to one another. The cloths covering each table alternate in colors by threes so that, from his position, the room looks like an elegant mix of maroon, navy, and blush that starts with the table cloths and spreads to the flowers, the drapery covering the walls, and even the clothes each member of the wedding party has been given to wear. It is, altogether, the most beautiful collection of aesthetics he’s ever seen cultivated with his own two eyes.

Peter moves through the room with haste, trying not to be noticed by headset guy while he weaves through the many mingling guests in search for his friends. Distantly, he notices the soft jazz music making up the background noise as he scans the room, eyes peeled for the hat he knows Ned will be wearing. He comes to a stop when he reaches the maroon drapery hugging the other side of the hall, neither MJ nor Ned anywhere to be seen. There are so many goddamn tables and not everyone is sitting down, so the mess of people that cover the hall make it particularly difficult to locate them. For what feels like the 100th time that day he inwardly reprimands himself for not committing to memory, or at the very least his bookmarks, the packet of information about the day that Pepper had emailed him. He’s sure there was a seating chart included in it. 

Above him the DJ’s voice sounds over the speakers that line the walls and asks everybody to find their seats to prepare for the introduction of the bride and groom. Peter grudgingly trudges over to the singular long rectangular table that, despite the apparent lack of attention he’s paid the event’s numerous run-throughs, he remembers is his designated spot for the evening. The rest of the wedding party has already found their seats by the time he locates the place setting that reads _ Peter Parker _and hurriedly slips into his own. His eyes dance over the tables closest to him, a wing of the large circular room that he hadn’t previously had the chance to scan through. He makes note of a few familiar faces, a group of employees that work with Pepper at SI are bunched together at a table to the left. The Avengers, the ones that didn’t make it into the wedding party, are scattered throughout three different tables in front of him, filled with families, significant others and plus ones Peter has definitely never met before. And a couple of others, the old man that lives in the apartment below Tony and Pepper in Manhattan, the man who does the landscaping at the Connecticut house with his husband and two kids, and several of the make-up artists that had been working with the groomsmen earlier in the day, are all sat at a table together to his right. Still, no sign of his friends. 

The DJ starts speaking again and Peter pries his eyes away from guests to look up at the front of the hall. Tony and Pepper walk in together, hand in hand, looking for all the world like the cover stars that they both are, and happy cheers from the now standing crowd make Peter smile as the couple makes their way to the table and get situated in their seats next to Rhodey and May. The applause dies down, the DJ starts up the pleasant jazz again and Peter turns his grin from the center of the table back to the guests. At this point he it feels a little stupid to keep looking, half the guests still have their eyes up at their table as Tony and Pepper do something cute beside him, but he’s actually starting to get concerned that Ned and MJ didn’t make it into the reception hall after the ceremony. His phone buzzes from inside his pocket. He pulls it out. 

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : don’t get me wrong, i’m a big fan of the dorky look you get when you’re concentrating really hard, but what the actual fuck are you looking for? _

Peter heaves out an unamused, tired laugh.

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _ you guys! _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪:_ lol four tables back to your left. _

He picks his head up to the left, counts four tables back, and bigger than shit, his eyes lock right onto MJ where she’s standing holding what looks like a champagne glass.

Peter is not embarrassed to admit that he has spent more than just a few hours of his free time watching rom coms, and trash reality dating shows, and reading romance novels. He’s familiar with the classic “guy sees pretty girl across the room and his heart stops” moment that commonly features in the genre, and while he enjoys the fantasy of it, he’d never been under any misconception that those moments exist in real life. Except that right now he’s looking at what he’s 100% sure has to be the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and his heart might as well be nonexistent for all the work it’s putting in at the moment. 

He’s sure he looks like an idiot, he’s got no idea what he’s doing with his face because all he can think, the only thing his brain can recognize, is that MJ is wearing a gray _ velvet _ suit and black stilettos that will undoubtedly make her tower over him and as if that alone isn’t enough to cause Peter an early death, she’s also got a cascade of brilliantly red curls tumbling over her shoulder. He’s never found anyone more attractive in his life. He needs to breathe, he definitely needs to take a breath, but it suddenly feels like there is no oxygen left in the room. She’s so hot that she’s literally taken up all the oxygen in the room. He stays like that for a long moment, or maybe several years, he can’t be sure, before something in him clicks into place and then he’s smiling the biggest, dopiest smile and waving at her like an idiot. MJ giggles at him and takes a sip of her _ champagne — _and lord knows how she got that — but he’s still too caught up in how incredible she looks to care. 

Behind her champagne glass, she gestures down to her phone and starts typing something out. Peter’s phone buzzes on the table and he seizes the time away from looking at her to finally breathe again. 

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : come see us when you’re finished being the groom’s man, I have goodies for you! _

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: _is it champagne? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : you’ll have to come and see _

Peter looks back up at her with a half curious, half nervous expression but MJ just wiggles her eyebrows and turns to sit back down in her seat next to Ned and his parents. His heart still isn’t beating normally in his chest but he wills it to do its job as he focuses all of his energy on something, anything that isn't MJ. 

Like a gift from the heavens, their waiter appears in front of Natasha on the opposite end of the table and asks for her order. He looks down at his place setting, and elegant layering of napkin and silverware underneath a small menu that offers it’s reader four different dinner options on one side and a plethora of different drinks on the other. He reads it carefully, grateful for the distraction, and very quickly decides on the shrimp pasta when he remembers how good it was during the taste test he’d forced Tony to let him tag along to.

Next to him, May’s order turns into a friendly discussion with the waiter that leaves her giggly and grinning by the time he moves on to Peter and then eventually Bruce. Peter does a poor job of hiding his knowing smile when he looks away but he keeps his teasing comment to himself. It’s not unusual, May always gets a lot of attention when they’re out together, from men and women and literally anyone who talks to her for more than two seconds. He’s used to it. But they’ve never really talked about the implication of the attention because he’s never sure if acknowledging it is okay. It’s been almost three years since Ben passed and even though she’s admittedly been busy raising him, Peter is aware that it’s only a matter of time before she starts dating again and he is also aware that when that happens, she will have no shortage of takers.

He’s fine with it. Encourages it, actually, because he’s only got one more year left of high school before he goes off to college and he doesn't like the idea of leaving May by herself when he does. It’s weird because Peter has only ever seen May with Ben before, so seeing her with someone new will definitely take some getting used to, but everything about life post Ben passing has been an endless barrage of things that have taken some getting used to, and so far he’s gotten used to all of them, so he’s not worried. He just wishes there was some way he could tell her that without making it a Big Deal™️. 

Almost too quickly, the waiter returns to their table with a tray of drinks for everybody, but flirty banter only for May, and Peter uses their conversation as an excuse to peak at Twitter on his phone. His timeline is a buzz about the “wedding of the century” and full of blurry paparazzi pictures of various avengers arriving at the hotel. 

“That's not my best angle.” Bruce’s voice is just over his shoulder. 

Peter grins and moves his eyes up to him. “I’ve seen worse.”

Peter had recently seen Bruce hulk-out for the first time during some testing he was running on himself and it was an ordeal and a half to get him back to normal. Peter privately regards it as one of the coolest things he’s ever seen, but seeing as how Bruce is not a big fan of his green friend making unexpected appearances, he’s kept his fanboying about the incident to a minimum. 

“Ha. Honestly though, I don't know how these people always manage to get me at my absolute worst angle every time. At this point they have to be trying.” 

Peter laughs a little, looking down at the picture on his phone. He’s kind of right but it feels rude to agree so he offers him an embarrassing anecdote instead. “The first time I was seen in public with Pepper it was when she and May took me shopping for homecoming last year and they got a picture of her cleaning barbecue sauce off my face like a five year old while we were leaving a Neiman Marcus. They are definitely trying to get the money shot.”

Bruce laughs openly at that, which is unusual for him, and even though the barbecue incident is definitely in Peter’s top 10 most embarrassing stories, he’s glad to have it for that moment.

The rest of dinner passes in companionable conversation, dishes being served to the tables almost all at once, so that seemingly everyone in the hall takes their first bite and offers a collective moan and eye roll at its deliciousness all at the same time. Everything is hunky dory even as their waiter brings them their fourth basket of bread in 30 minutes as an excuse to talk to May. Peter watches with half horror and half amusement as May definitely flirts back, something that is distinctly uncommon, but like before, he keeps his thoughts to himself as he picks through his pasta. 

By the time his plate is clean and the rest of the guests seem to be doing more talking than eating, the DJ comes over the speakers again and invites everyone to mingle and dance and enjoy each other’s company for a while before the cake is cut. His spot at the table, next to May on one side and Bruce on the other, positions him perfectly to ask what the hell he’s supposed to be doing next without having to encounter Pepper’s wrath that he’s ignored her emails and various literature on the matter. He’s about to do just that when the bride herself peaks her perfectly sculpted head around where May is leaned forward onto her elbow in conversation with the waiter. 

“Hey,” she says, grinning at Peter mischievously.

Peter looks at her hesitantly. “Hey.” 

“Wanna come greet some guests with Tony and I?” Her tone is excited but Peter isn’t convinced that the task itself will be. 

“What exactly does that entail?” he asks, cautiously.

“Saying hi to people, chit chatting, etc.” She frowns at him. “It was in your itinerary, remember?” 

Peter smiles nervously. He _ definitely _ should have read the fine print before agreeing to do this. “Of course I do. Okay then, let's go greet people.” 

Pepper pushes herself back in her chair, gathering the excess of her skirt in one iron clasp of a hand and stands gracefully to her full height, which is much shorter than normal with her shoes pushed aside under the table. Tony does the same behind her and three of them make their way from the slightly elevated placement of their table down into the ballroom where the rest of the guests are sitting. 

After greeting and talking to a couple different tables worth of guests, Peter is beginning to suspect that perhaps Tony and Pepper had ulterior motives when they’d invited him to tag along for this particular part of the wedding. It’s clear by the third identical conversation that the two wanted Peter with them less to divvy out the task of saying hello to everyone and more to proudly and embarrassingly brag to literally all of their friends about the fact that Peter is currently ranked #1 in his Junior class at Midtown Tech and that his internship with Stark Industries has really “changed the office for the better.” What’s worse than anything is that most of the people they walk up to _ recognize _him before they even have a chance to introduce him, which is how Peter comes to find out that somehow, without him noticing, both Tony and Pepper have put up pictures of him in their offices. It’s like when he goes with May to the hospital Christmas party but worse because while May can easily introduce Peter as her nephew, Tony and Pepper kind of fizzle out before they can reference Peter with any official title.

Their friends are outrageously kind though, and all seem to be completely up to speed on their very unique situation because as soon as the connection that he is in fact _ that _Peter, is made, everyone is “delighted to meet” him and has “heard so much about” him. It’s terrible in a nice sort of way. He wants to die when Thing 1 and Thing 2 won’t stop talking about how his ambitions to go to MIT, but he’s lying if he ever tries to claim that the whole ordeal isn't secretly one of the nicest things he’s ever experienced. Even still, after about 45 minutes of relentless polite conversation, he’s getting kind of antsy. 

“Be honest with me. Did you two plan this whole thing just to trick me into voluntarily being shown off to your friends?” Peter eyes both Tony and Pepper in turn as he fiddles with the collar of his shirt. The three of them are in between tables of guests to greet. 

“Yes. This whole wedding was a clever, Oceans 11 style ruse. Did it work?” Tony asks.

“No,” Peter fusses, grumpily. 

“And yet.” Pepper places a soft hand behind Peter to guide him forward as they approach the next table. “Sam, Dani, you both look so lovely,” She greets the two ladies with an award winning smile and kiss on both cheeks. They talk for a brief moment, compliments flying in every direction as Tony catches up and mimics Pepper’s previous sentiment. “Oh and this is Peter.” Pepper turns her attention to Peter with a smile that clearly says the plan very much_ is _ working and his resistance is futile. He paints on his most charming smile. 

25 minutes later and Peter and Pepper seem to have lost Tony to a conversation with Bruce and a friend of his that works for CalTech’s robotics department, and try though Peter did try to pretend like a) he could follow what the three men were talking about and b) he cared, Pepper was having none of it. She drags him along to the next table to greet and so on until they’ve wound themselves through almost the entire ballroom and are working their way down the smattering of tables that’s to the left of their own long rectangular one. The row where Ned, his parents, and MJ were all sitting in. The row Peter has been simultaneously dreading and silently praying they would get to. Before he knows it, he and Pepper are greeting the last table before _ the _table and Peter is looking everywhere but over there because he knows that if he does, he’s likely to see MJ looking incredibly hot and he’s not sure he’s figured out all of how to navigate that very important fact when trying to converse or even just exist near her. 

He’s been stretching out a conversation with Pepper’s favorite college professor and her husband for about 10 minutes, which is definitely a lot longer than they’ve stayed at one table so far, and Peter is just about ready to set up camp here for the rest of the night when Pepper politely interrupts them to steal him away. Let it never be said that Pepper Potts is anything less than punctual and fair. Let it also never be said that Peter Parker is capable of behaving normally around someone he’s attracted to. And it’s like, here’s the thing: Peter has _ been _attracted to MJ. From, like, day one, if he’s being honest with himself. But it was the kind of attraction that just kind of became second nature to him, because MJ being hot is not news to anybody. It’s like the sky is blue, water is wet, and Michelle Jones is objectively a very beautiful person. He’s used to the skips in his heartbeat and the swell of overwhelming love that has been as present in their every conversation as their witty banter. So while he knew she’d look nicer than average today, absolutely nothing in the world could have prepared him for the suit-clad, stiletto-wearing, redheaded goddess that is his best friend. And here he is, acting a fucking mess. 

He’s stumbling awkwardly on his feet as he hesitantly walks towards the next table, attempting a measured breath while trying to come up with something clever to say to her that will convey how good he thinks she looks without, well, Petering the situation up. His eyes catch on where MJ is sitting, apparently having a _ very _ impassioned argument with a table-mate of hers he doesn’t recognize, and she looks so serious, so god damn intense, and so much prettier for it that he genuinely hears wedding bells in his head, which— _ okay get a fucking grip Parker_. He brings Pepper to a sudden halt and then frantically pulls her to the side, slightly further away from his friends. 

“Okay hold up a second,” he says taking an exaggerated breath and resting his hands on his knees for a second. 

Pepper frowns at him in concern. “What’s the matter?” 

Peter glances up her briefly before focusing back on his breathing. He does a quick cost/benefit analysis in his head before ultimately saying fuck it and blurting out “Okay, honesty hour.” He looks at her with a very serious, very sober impression. “I’m in love with MJ. And —please don’t get mad at me for being misogynistic— she literally looks so hot in that suit that I’m afraid of talking to her.” 

Pepper’s eyes widen and she brings a hand up to cover her mouth for a moment before moving it slightly to talk. “Oh wow. I did not see that coming.” 

Peter studies her for a moment. “You knew, didn't you?” 

Pepper breaks behind her hand and falls into a fit of giggles. “Yeah I totally knew.” She breathes out another laugh that is clearly supposed to be a calming one, but she’s still holding them back when she says, “I'll be honest, she showed me her look for the day and I bet Tony and May that you wouldn't make it past dinner without either proposing marriage or passing out.” 

“Okay wow, so not only do all three of you know but you guys get together laugh at my misery?!” He says, with all the conviction of a person who knows damn well that he is dangerously close to doing both of those things. 

“We laugh AND we bet on your crush-induced misery, yes. It’s one of the best parts of co-parenting. You’ll see one say,” Pepper clarifies. He glares at her. 

“Okay.” He breathes out a resigned huff. “So you know. Help me! I’m a mess, Pepper. I can't be trusted to talk to her, what if I say something really weird like I want her to kick me? It’s true but I have a feeling I shouldn't say it out loud.” He looks at Pepper, clearly distressed. 

“Hmm. Yeah, I feel like you should save that comment for after she’s agreed to date you. Like. At least a couple weeks in.” Pepper agrees, holding back a smile in an evident attempt to show she’s taking this seriously. “You should tell her she looks good, but maybe in a uniquely MJ way. Like compliment how much she looks like she could kill a man. She’ll like that.” 

Peter stares at her with a blank, blinking expression. “That is exactly the kind of advice I would expect from someone who pined over their boss for 10 years before actually making a move.” 

“That may be true but the last time I checked he just stood up in front of 300 people and promised to love me forever. Plus who’s the boss now?” She raises her eyebrows. 

Peter thinks about it for a moment and then growls in annoyance as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Your long game _ is _ admittedly fire,” he begrudgingly admits, then he blanches. “But what am I gonna do? Quietly seduce her with my apparently _ very _noticeable eyebags and hope that 20 years from now she’ll marry me?” 

“Pete,” Pepper starts, genuinely serious for the first time in the conversation. “Listen, MJ already loves you. You guys are best friends. Just go be yourself and, if the moment strikes, tell her she looks nice.” 

Peter thinks about it for a long moment and then starts nodding intently. “Yeah.” He keeps nodding. “That's the plan. Being myself.” He looks back over to the table. “Okay let's do this.”

He takes off before he has the chance to turn away, leaving Pepper a good couple of places behind him. He reaches the table in a few quick strides and finds that he’s brought himself right next to MJ who had evidently finished her debate with her table mate and is in the middle of pouring herself more champagne when she notices him and looks up, smiling. 

“Hey dork,” she greets, voice softer then he was expecting. The butterflies in his stomach go crazy. 

“Hey,” he replies, almost breathlessly. Somewhere on the other side of the table Pepper is greeting Ned’s parents. Peter’s eyes are glued to MJ’s. 

“You have fun being shown off to all of Tony and Pepper’s fancy friends?” she asks through a smirk. Peter swallows heavily. 

“Uh. Not really. But I guess if they wanted me to look presentable when I met them, this was kind of a two birds and one stone thing,” he tries to joke but it sounds wrong to his ears. 

MJ snorts. “Presentable might be an understatement. Like I said before.” She grips the the bottom corners of his silk vest to straighten it out. “You look perfect, Parker. Picture perfect.” She smiles up at him, closed mouthed and earnest and from this angle he can she every detail of her gorgeously drawn face, all eyelashes and plush pink lips and really, who could ever blame him for falling in love with her? He’s only mortal and she? A goddess from another time. 

“You look so hot, you could kill a man with one look.” Peter hears himself say. He’s as surprised that he’d said them as MJ momentarily looks to be. He’s never fucking talking to Pepper again. Why on EARTH had he asked for her help in the first place. Peter can feel the panic well up in his chest as his brain immediately starts producing exit strategies. 

“That is the nicest compliment I have ever gotten.” MJ looks at him genuinely impressed. “Do you want some champagne?” She asks him, turning to the table to pick up the bottle she’d been pouring with a moment ago. 

“I— what?” He frowns at her. “How did you get champagne?” 

“I stole it from the bridal suite.” She smiles at him mischievously. “And poured it into this bottle marked “sparking apple cider” so that no one would question me.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him. “You want some?” 

“I...do,” he admits, smiling despite himself. 

MJ uses her leg to move the chair next to her own out before patting the seat twice. “Come sit.” 

Peter does as he’s told and collapses into the chair, grateful to be off his feet after walking the entire length of the ballroom. Beside him, MJ hands him a plastic champagne flute full of bubbly golden liquid and then picks up her own. “To looking hot but being woefully single at the wedding of the century!” she says, offering her glass in a toast. Peter clinks his against hers and takes a large sip. Right away, he pulls the flute away with a sour expression on his face. 

“This tastes like carbonated apple cider vinegar,” he says, maintaining his sour expression. 

“Yeah it is very not good,” MJ agrees.

Peter looks at her bemused. “Then why have you been drinking it all night?” 

“I haven't. I’ve just been holding the glass. I feel like it really compliments my aesthetic,” she explains. 

“That is...honestly so fair,” Peter laments, taking the opportunity to rake his eyes over her body. “Wow.” He swallows and forces himself to take a normal breath. “It really does complete the look.” MJ raises her glass in a fake toast to thank him. 

Peter is saved from having to come up with somewhere clever to take the conversation next by Ned’s appearance next to them. 

“Question for you guys,” he starts, catching his breath. “Is it morally wrong for me to make out with someone after they’ve told me that The Phantom Menace is in their top 3 favorite Star Wars movies?” 

“Yes—” (MJ)

“No—” (Peter) 

Peter and MJ look at each other affronted for a moment before turning their attention back to Ned.

“Okay wait. How hot are they?” MJ amends. 

“It’s Colonel Rhodes’ nephew.” 

Peter’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Matthew or James?” 

“James.” 

Peter sits back in his seat heavily to think it through before ultimately deciding he needs more information. “Well what are his other two?” 

“Ooh, yeah. That's the real question,” MJ agrees out loud, pointing at Peter. 

“Empire Strikes Back and The Force Awakens,” Ned answers quickly. 

“You should definitely kiss him,” MJ says at the exact same time Peter says, “go nuts, dude.” 

Ned breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay good.” He grabs Peter’s champagne glass, downs it all in one sip, and then turns his face up at the taste of it. “God. It really does taste like seltzer water but with somehow less sugar.” He gives another disgusted twitch. “Anyway, wish me luck, guys.” And he turns to go back to wherever it is he came from, but then he stops to look at Peter. “Hey by the way.” He flashes a friendly smile and looks Peter up and down. “You look so good! Tony did a great job with the creative design. Also—“ He gestures towards Peter’s face. “No eye bags. It looks good.” 

Peter can’t help the small giggle he breathes out. “Thank you, bud. I appreciate it.” He offers Ned a smile to show that he means it. “Now go make out with James before he confesses that Snape is his favorite character in Harry Potter or something.” 

“Right,” Ned says, turning and disappearing again into the crowd of mingling guests. 

Peter turns his attention back to MJ. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, The Phantom Menace was not _ that _ bad.”

“It is objectively the orange Starburst of Star Wars movies,” MJ states plainly. 

“Okay, true, but we have all gotten desperate and eaten an orange starburst before and you know what? It kind of slaps when it’s 3am and your 7 pages into a 10 page paper that’s due second period the next day.” He looks at her with a smug smile. “You know I'm right about this.”

MJ narrows her eyes. “Orange Starbursts are disgusting reminders that we have fallen from God’s grace and anyone who disagrees can die by my sword!” 

Peter offers a triumphant smile. “Lucky for me that’s my prefered way to die.” It’s out of his mouth before he has the chance to stop himself and really the truth is the truth. But he doesn’t want to give MJ the chance to mull over the, uh, _ implications _of it so he speaks up again. “Anyway. Have you spotted your mystery hero yet?” 

MJ’s momentary surprise shifts into a frown. “No. I’ve been looking and so far I've spotted several A list actors, a couple of notable athletes, and one Supreme Court Justice, but no one I’d consider a personal hero. It’s killing me.” 

“You wanna go meet them now?” Peter asks, fighting back a grin. 

MJ’s eyes go wide. “Like right now?” 

Peter nods. “Yeah lets go.” He nudges his head in the direction of their table and offers her his hand. 

“But—” MJ starts but Peter pulls her to her feet before she can finish. “Peter, I’m not wearing shoes. I can’t meet a personal hero while not wearing shoes.” Despite her protests she doesn’t let go of his hand as he leads her through the crowds of people chatting. He spares a thought for Pepper, realizing that he’d left her by herself to greet the rest of the guests, but almost as soon as he remembers he catches her eyes through a gap in the mingling bodies and she flashes him a quick thumbs up. He grins back in a way he hopes conveys his gratitude and then pushes forward, passing politely by guests and between waiters as they clear the tables, pulling MJ behind him until he reaches the row of tables that house the Wakandan guests. He hears MJ gasp behind him and he turns around smiling unabashedly. 

Months ago, when Pepper had come from work and offhandedly mentioned to Tony and Peter that she’s spoken to Nakia on the ride home, he had no idea that Nakia Pepper’s good friend was also Nakia Queen of Wakanda and also MJ’s biggest inspiration. Queen Nakia is to MJ what Tony had been— and really still is— to Peter. Even before Wakanda had revealed itself to the world, Queen Nakia was very involved in the international feminist literature scene and, for that reason and about a million others, had ended up at the very top of MJ’s “celebrities I would like to meet someday” list. When it came out that the woman she had spent her entire childhood reading was the newly crowned Queen of a secret African nation whose King was the Black Panther, MJ lost her mind. Peter heard about nothing else for weeks, not that he minded at all. 

After Tony and Pepper explained that the Nakia Pepper often referenced was the Nakia MJ hadn't been able to stop talking about, he hatched an idea. He wanted to surprise MJ with her biggest hero and, judging from the look on her face, it was working. 

_ This is gonna be so good _. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know the suit i based MJ's look off of. I did not exaggerate her hotness.


	9. IX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I lied last chapter and I’m sorry. 
> 
> This chapter was a bitch to finish because I had the clearest picture in my head of the scene and I wanted it perfect. I wish I could have gotten all of it right sooner but it just didn’t follow my orders. I hope the end result makes up for the wait. 
> 
> Love you guys and every single comment gives me a thrill like no drug ever could. 
> 
> Come scream at me on tumblr: spiders-n

**March 21st, 8:39pm.**

“Peter!” MJ hisses, pulling him closer to hide behind him. “Is that—”

“Queen Nakia of Wakanda? Yes. And she wants to meet you.” Peter grins at her. 

MJ’s eyes bulge. “Stop it. No she doesn’t.” 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Why don’t we go see.” 

“We can’t just go over there and bother them! They’re royalty we probably need to file paperwork or something I don’t know.” MJ looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“We do not. It’s a wedding, Em. They’re guests of the bride and groom. It’s perfectly normal to mingle. Plus, I was just over there with Tony and Pepper and they’re really nice. Queen Nakia asked me to bring you by to say hello,” Peter assures her. 

“You’re joking—” MJ looks at him severely.

Before Peter can argue further a voice interrupts them. 

“Pete, MJ,” Tony calls from where he’d obviously made his way over to talk with the King and Queen. “We were just talking about you two, come here.” He gestures them over. 

Peter smiles at them and practically drags a stunned MJ over to the table they’re all standing next to. “Hello again, everybody,” he greets, nodding at all of them in turn and just generally doing his best impression of Tony in situations like this. They all offer grinning greetings in return. He takes a breath and then turns to MJ whose face is pale with nerves but wearing a friendly smile. “Uh, this is my best friend, Michelle,” he starts, thankfully Tony takes over. 

Tony puts a hand and Peter’s shoulder and nods to MJ. “Like I was saying, Peter and Michelle are both very interested in Wakandan tech. I’ve been toying around with the idea of bringing a portion of their graduating class there for a school trip, if we can make it work,” he says in a way that is obviously supposed to plant the idea without promising real discussion at the moment. 

It’s all smiles at the suggestion. “That sounds wonderful. I can have our scientific outreach coordinator contact you about it.” Queen Nakia nods to Tony before turning to MJ and offering a hand, “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Michelle.” She grins. King T’challa does the same. “Yes, Tony and Pepper and Peter have told us quite a bit about you. I hear you’re a big fan of the pieces we’ve recently donated to The National Museum of African Art” he says.

MJ’s cheeks color and she giggles breathily in a sort of giddy way that makes Peter’s heartbeat irregular. “Oh, wow.” She swallows. “Um, it is an _ honor _ to meet you both.” She looks from him to Queen Nakia. “I’m— Yes, sir, it’s beautiful. The, um, the art, I mean. The Mask of the Jabari Warrior is my favorite piece,” she finally manages. Peter has never seen her this flustered before. He didn’t even know she could be this star struck.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites as well. The artist that designed that did several ornate masks before she passed away. The Jabari family that owns her art was gracious enough to part with a few pieces to be displayed. We have some in our palace and then we loaned one out to the museum. If we get you all over to the kingdom on your trip, I can show you the others we have,” Queen Nakia offers, clearly charmed by MJ’s obvious nerves. 

MJ’s eyes bulge. “That would be really, really cool.” MJ’s smile is real when she offers it this time, and Peter can see her consider something before she speaks again. “This may not be very polite to say, but I think it’s important to say it anyway. I know that going public with the existence of your nation was an extremely risky move, and I know it hasn’t necessarily been received well by everybody, but I just want you to know that the projects you’ve started are making a huge difference in the world, even right here in New York. I think you all made the right call. Um, not that it matters what I think. I just—I can’t imagine it was an easy decision, and if I were you, I'd want the reminder that good is coming from it.”

Everyone in the little huddle seems to be just as taken aback by MJ’s abrupt change in tone as Peter. He actually has to remind himself to fix his expression before looking up again. There’s a beat of silence where King T’Challa and Queen Nakia seem to be too surprised to respond. Then, suddenly, the Queen leans forward to squeeze MJ’s hand. “Thank you, dear. You’re quite right. It’s been a long and arduous process. Sometimes, it’s nice to be talked to like a person and not just a queen. I really appreciate your affirmation. I take it to heart.” She smiles gratefully and Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

Across from him, King T’Challa nods and even his normally unreadable expression has given way to one that says he’s very obviously touched. “Yes. Thank you for your kind words.” 

MJ looks pleasantly surprised that her spur of the moment speech didn’t get her kicked out of the wedding. “Oh.” She blushes even deeper than before. “Of course. I mean it.” She smiles at them both. 

A woman, Wakandan security by the looks of it, approaches King T’Challa quietly. “I am sorry to interrupt, my King, but your attention is needed for a moment.” 

The King nods sagely and then turns to the rest of them. “If you all will excuse me for a few moments. Michelle, it was lovely to meet you. I look forward to hopefully seeing you in Wakanda in the coming year.” He nods at her again and makes to break away from the group when another person, one of the private security agents that Tony and Pepper hired, approaches Tony. 

“Mr. Stark, may I speak with you privately for a moment?” 

‘Uh oh,” Tony says, looking between the two agents and then up at King T’Challa. “Something tells me we might be about to have the same momentary discussion with our HOS.”

“That is very likely,” Tony’s security agent says quietly. 

Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Right.” He looks at the King again. “Care you join me?” 

T’challa nods firmly and extends his arm out. “Lead the way.” The two men and their respective security agents make their way stealthily to the edge of the room before disappearing behind the door that Peter had entered the hall through. 

“So Michelle,” Queen Nakia starts. Peter turns back around so it looks like he’s following the conversation in front of him and not mentally running through the list of possible intel that could be being shared behind closed doors. 

“Oh, you can call me MJ, if you’d like,” MJ interrupts. 

The queen smiles brightly. “MJ,” She corrects herself. “Pepper tells me you’re something of an artist yourself.” 

MJ responds modestly and then says something about experimenting with clay, but Peter isn’t really paying attention. He glances over his shoulder to see if anyone else has been called away for whatever briefing is going on, hoping that their absence will narrow down the possibilities of what could be happening, but it looks like all of the obvious people— Steve, Natasha, Rhodey —are all enjoying the festivities like they had been before. With Pepper’s fears fresh in his mind, Peter isn’t altogether comforted by the fact that the Wakandan guests were the ones that had been specifically threatened and they’re the only ones also being briefed on something. And it can’t be nothing because security would never pull Tony away from his own wedding reception unless it’s important. In front of him, MJ and Nakia are talking about sculptures or something, and Peter takes the first available break in conversation to excuse himself to the restroom before turning to go investigate what’s going on. 

He more or less follows the same path that Tony and King T’Challa had taken moments earlier, though he tries to smile at people and wave so it doesn’t look so obvious as he walks out of the room. When he steps into the hallway he experiences the same disorienting change in atmosphere that he’d felt when he left it. Blinking a few times, he lets his eyes adjust to the brightness of the fluorescent lights. When they refocus, he sees the two security guards that had flanked the doorway before still standing by it, and a few more in front of a doorway down the hall. _ It can’t be that easy, _he thinks to himself as he starts walking. He smiles awkwardly to the guards as he passes by, his enhanced hearing picking up voices on the other side of the door they’re guarding, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he keeps walking until he reaches the room he’d waited in after the ceremony and enters it. 

The room is dark and empty, but luckily seems to share a wall with the room Tony and King T’Challa disappeared into. _ Apparently, it is that easy. _Peter walks over to the wall that the voices are emanating from behind, letting the door fall shut behind him. This is always a bit difficult without the suit on, trying to control his enhanced senses. The suit is literally designed to block input, either selectively at his command or just at a basic level automatically, and without it, it takes an ungodly amount of concentration. Tensely, he closes his eyes to focus on what’s being said, willing his brain to zero in on what his ears are picking up.

“Setting aside the security breach,” Peter can make out the sound of King T’Challa’s voice. “There are only a few people on earth that know how to manipulate vibranium. Who could they be working with that they felt like robbing one of the most secure facilities in your country would be worth it?” 

“That’s a good question, but I'm honestly more concerned with what they’re gonna do with it once they bring it to whoever that is.” That’s Tony’s voice, Peter is sure. “I know I’m not the only one in the room with experience in weapons manufacturing, so correct me if I’m wrong, but if they find a way to make the vibranium into powder and they mix it with their choice of periodic cocktail, they’re going to have some very dangerous weapons very quickly,” He finishes, darkly. 

“I was thinking the same thing.” T’Challa agrees. “I’m going to have my head of security and intelligence look into how the research facility was so easily broken into, but my gut is telling me that this isn’t like our security breaches in the past.”

“This the first one since going public?” Tony asks. 

“Yes. Wakanda is impenetrable, but now that we have Embassies and facilities in other countries we’re more vulnerable than we’ve ever been. Our facilities in America have been more difficult to protect than almost any other country. We get so many baseless threats that knowing the real ones is proving a bigger challenge than we anticipated,” T’Challa explains. 

Tony snorts. “Oh yeah, Americans are 98% bark and 2% bite but that 2% is a son of a bitch when it does bite. Let me know if we can ever be of any assistance. We’ve got security for our security at the compound, and I'm happy to share. Just say the word.” 

“Thank you, Tony, your kindness is appreciated. I will let you know if we ever find ourselves in need of taking you up on it.” There’s a pause and Peter strains to hear shuffling. “Go enjoy the rest of your wedding. I’m sorry this took you away from it,” T’Challa seems to be seeing Tony out because both voices are further away when Tony speaks again. 

“No worries. I asked them to keep me posted on any developments with your security. Also, T’challa.” Peter hears the sound of the door opening. “Don’t keep Nakia waiting too long. This is a vacation.” 

T’Challa chuckles. “Give my love to Pepper if I don’t see you both before you leave.” 

Peter’s sure Tony responds but he can’t hear anything except the shuffling of his steps as they walk back down the hallway. He takes a second to breathe. Anytime he focuses all of his energy on using one of his senses over the others he gets a bit of a headache, and he’d been straining really hard, so it kinda feels like someone is playing the drums in his head when he finally opens his eyes and tries to equalize his senses again. He sits quietly for a moment, willing his brain to stop giving him so much feedback all at once. 

“I thought I'd find you here,” MJ says from the doorway. 

Peter jumps and then squints up at her silhouette, the light makes his stomach twist. “Jesus. Close the door or i’m gonna puke.” 

MJ steps farther into the room and shuts the door behind her, leaving the rest of the room completely dark. “Are you okay?” she asks in a concerned tone. 

“‘M fine, I was just straining my super hearing to listen in on Tony and King T’Challa’s conversation and now my senses are kinda...out of whack.” He pauses for a second and closes his eyes again. “Everything is super amplified right now. Like your voice. And your perfume.” He sniffs the air. “I literally smell your hair dye.” 

“Nice job, Spider-Man,” MJ says, sarcastically and even though he can tell she’s speaking in a whisper it just sounds like a normal volume to him. Her use of the name sends a spark up in his chest. 

Peter groans. “Okay you calling me Spider-Man in a dark room when my senses are already dialed up to a billion is unfair and I think you know that.” 

MJ laughs and takes another step. “Can I come sit next to you?” 

Peter smiles in her direction wearily, eyes still closed. “Can you, like, see anything?” 

“No.” 

“Well then I _wouldn’t_...” 

“I’m doing it anyway, I’m sorry if I step on you.” MJ shuffles slowly towards his voice. 

He snorts. “To your left a little bit and forward a few steps.” 

“Can _ you _see in here?” she asks, impressed. 

“Probably, but it hurts to open my eyes so I'm just basing my instructions off of what everything else is telling me about where you are.”

“What?” MJ stops moving. “What’s everything else?” 

“I don’t know. My other senses. Like I said before, you smell good so it’s easy to track your smell, but I can also feel your body heat move throughout the room. And—” MJ starts walking again, following his instructions. “I can hear you.” 

“Woah. Can you do this all the time?” she questions him, still shuffling carefully to her left. 

“Nope. This— hey, I'm right here.” He reaches out to grab her hand before she runs into him. She stops moving and plops down where she’s standing. “This only happens when I fuck around with one of them and try and block out the others. Normally I have them at a manageable level but sometimes, it’s harder to bring them back to that.” 

“That’s kind of awesome,” MJ comments, clearly interested. 

“It doesn’t feel awesome,” Peter retorts. 

“Right,” MJ says, soberly. “Right, sorry. It’s just...” There’s a pause where Peter guesses that she’s shrugging. “Sometimes being best friends with a superhero is really cool.” Peter smiles. “Anyway, did you satisfy your curiosity?” 

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Peter replies quietly. Up close MJ’s _ MJ _smell is doing weird things to his head. It’s such an overpowering mix of her apple body wash and the expensive and spicy perfume she’s wearing that it’s starting to make his headache wane.

“And?” MJ prompts, bringing his attention back to the topic at hand. 

For a very brief moment, Peter considers not telling MJ what he’d heard, but it passes almost as quickly as it comes. If he can’t trust MJ, he can’t trust anybody. “I think there was a security breach at one of the Wakandan research centers in the US and some valuable materials were stolen, including vibranium.” 

There is another pause and then MJ speaks. “Weapons?”

Peter frowns at her, even though he knows she can’t see him. “What makes you think that?” 

“Have you done this week’s reading for your Intro to Intelligence class?” She asks.

“No, that’s tomorrow. Why?” Peter’s frown stays in place. 

“This week is about trends in weapons and one of the things it talks about is the weapons market.” She shifts a little bit to she can lean in closer to Peter, which she always does when she’s explaining something complicated. “The basic point of the text is this: anytime a new form of weaponry gets introduced to the market there is a restructuring that takes place. New weapons, especially if they’re scarce, create a small boom in the market. Manufacturers try to create products that can compete when the new weapons, traders and collectors have a new product to try to get their hands on and replicate, and buyers, i.e. organized criminals or undercover government operatives, have a new weapon to use when they need it. The second reading we had to do was a WIRED article about the influx of new Wakandan technology and the influence it’s having on the tech market, I’m not sure, because class isn’t until next week, but I can guess that Wakandan weapons are also creating a boom right now, and I’m sure a lot of people are trying to get their hands on the Wakandan materials that are used to make their weapons. That’s vibranium. So, it just makes sense that that’s what they want it for.” 

Peter’s face turns from it’s frown to impressed surprise when MJ finishes explaining her reasoning. “Em, how are you better than me in a class you’re not even technically taking?” 

“Because I’m not splitting my study time with my side gig as an actual superhero,” she retorts. 

“Tony and King T’Challa think whoever stole the materials is trying to make weapons too,” he says simply. 

“See. They must have read the same WIRED article,” she jokes.

Peter snorts out a big laugh at that. “I’m sorry for abandoning you with your personal hero to go snoop on her husband.” 

“That’s okay we needed to get rid of you two. The real fireworks didn’t start going off until you left,” she assures him, leaning back on her long arms. 

It takes Peter a moment to realize he’s looking at her, that his eyes are open and it doesn’t hurt. His senses are going back to their normal dulled state. It’s weird because it normally takes a lot longer for them to regulate but he thinks maybe taking with MJ, being around her, is helping, which— _ weird_. 

“Okay can I just say that today has been the weirdest day of my entire life,” MJ announces, loudly. 

“Weirder than the day you and Ned tried to help me ask Gwen on a date by feeding me lines like Cyrano de Bergerac?” Peter asks. 

“Definitely weirder than that.” MJ nods in confirmation.

“Weird bad?” He asks, carefully. 

“Weird wonderful,” she clarifies. “I just had a ten minute conversation with Queen Nakia, told her about one of my art projects, and she _cared. _I can’t believe she even wanted to meet me.” 

“She cared because your art projects are interesting, Em. And she wanted to meet you for the same reason.” He doesn't even care if he’s giving himself away here, he wants to be clear. 

MJ huffs a laugh. “She wanted to meet me because _ somebody _waxed poetic about how cool I am and how much I love her writing.”

Peter’s lips tilt in a smile but he plays dumb. “I told you before, Tony and Pepper are big fans of yours.” 

She giggles softly and awkwardly scoots closer to him, reaching a hand out to him. He eyes it for a moment before looking back at her. “What are you trying to do right now?” 

She moves her hand around more insistently before hitting his arm and turning to wrap her arm around it. “Is this your leg?” 

Peter looks at her wearily. “No...It’s my arm. What are you doing?” 

“_That’s your arm? _” she says, incredulous. “Good god, you really are a goddamn superhero,” she mutters quietly as she slides her grip from his bicep down to his wrist, lifting his arm up and away from his body. Before he can ask her a third time what she’s doing, she shuffles the last few feet between them, tucks herself underneath his arm and rests her head on his shoulder. 

He looks down at her head, befuddled. “Um. Yes? May I help you?” 

“Thank you for saying nice things about me to Queen Nakia. And thank you for surprising me with that.” She leans further into him. “That was the coolest ten minutes of my entire life.” 

Peter lets out a breath and feels his face break into a smile. “It was so fun to watch you freak out, it might have been one of the best couple minutes of mine.” 

MJ shifts to face him, expression doubtful. “You’re an Avenger in training and _ me _meeting my hero is one of the best couple minutes of your life?” 

Peter just smiles. “Are you kidding me? Watching you blush and giggle and stumble over your words? Absolutely.” 

MJ looks at him for a second and then she just rests her head back on his shoulder. “Okay, Spider-Man.” 

Peter swallows. It’s scary how easily he falls into this with MJ, this easy conversation and comfortable silence. The way they interact with each other is a practiced dance, and he loves every step of it. He loves that he knows all of her faces, and what her tone means. He likes that she’s always on the same page as him, but only lets him know that when she wants to. Like how she’d known to look for him here. He’s not sure he’s ever known somebody better, or been known by someone better, and really her knowing him so well is the reason he’s so in love with her. Because she doesn’t just know him well, she knows him completely. And she still wants to be his best friend, still wants to hang out on weekends when there’s no school work and it’s just them, still trusts him with her secrets and let’s him in on her schemes. Being in on all her jokes is the greatest high he’s ever experienced. And that’s why in moments like this, when it’s just them, and he can feel his love for her like it’s a tangible, physical thing, he’s so terrified. Because he knows every single incredibly valid reason he has told himself he shouldn’t make a move, but when she’s there with him and she does stuff like this, it’s hard to remember them. He can hear her breathing, can feel each puff of it as it leaves her nose and hits his chest, he can hear her heart beating quietly and all he wants in the world is to keep feeling this close to her.

“Do you want to dance with me?” He surprises even himself with his question, unwrapping his arm from her body and standing up abruptly. 

He can barely make it out, but MJ’s face scrunches up at his. “Here?” 

Peter shakes his head. “Out there. At the wedding. Do you want to go dance?” He repeats himself because he’s that fucking stupid. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing at this point. His main strategy is just listening to what his monkey brain is telling him. 

“Maybe,” MJ hesitates. “I thought you were fucked up, though.” She gestures around her head. 

“No, I'm better now. See” He smiles, eyes fully open. “You cured me.” 

“I cured you? How? All I did was talk to you.” 

“I don't know, but it worked so. Dancing?” Let it never be said that Peter Parker makes good decisions.

MJ stares in the direction of his voice for a moment, concentrated frown settling on her features like a habit. She breathes out a resigned huff. “Okay.” She shrugs again. “Let’s go dance.” She reaches her arm out towards him and he takes her hand to guide her to the door. 

The worst part of his new “fuck all rational thought and live in the moment” strategy is that, because it’s stupid and he definitely shouldn’t do it, doing it is really really easy. He’s pretty sure if his circumstances were different and there was no reason in the world he couldn’t pursue MJ, things would not work out as perfectly as they are. As it stands, they are not different, which, Peter is sure, is why MJ does _ not _ let go of his hand. Not when they reach the door and step out into the perfectly lit and independently navigable hallway, not when they pass both sets of security agents, and not when they walk back into the reception hall. 

She is, in fact, still holding his hand as they weave through the mingling guests, none of whom seem to have noticed their brief disappearance. Everything in the room looks the same as when they’d left it, the only sign that time has passed is that now, instead of the pleasant jazzy music that had been playing in the background all night, the DJ is playing a mix of pop and classic rock as a large group of very excited guests dance on the dance floor in front of him. If Peter squints, he can see little pockets of people he knows here and there but, thankfully, no one seems to be looking for him. He assumes that when Pepper gave him the thumbs up while he was taking MJ to meet Queen Nakia, it meant he was cleared of all groomsmen duties for the evening, but he’s not 100% sure and he doesn’t want to find out _ now. _He’s about to make the turn that leads to the dancefloor when MJ pulls him forward. 

“Where are we going?” He asks as she drags him along. 

“Back to my table so that I can dramatically down a glass of champagne like Ned did,” She informs them. 

Peter stops short, eyeing her with suspicion. “Are you serious?” 

MJ looks back at him with surprising intensity in her eyes. “Peter. In the span of one day I have: enjoyed a luxurious spa day with Pepper Potts, impulsively dyed my hair red, met and bonded with one of my personal heroes, obtained wakandan security intel via very questionable methods and now I am about to go dance with a cute boy at the _ wedding of the century_.” She flashes him her signature mischievous grin and leans into his space in a way that makes him feel hot all over. “If ever there was a moment in my life for me to dramatically down a glass of champagne, this is it. You of all people should understand. When the universe hands you a moment this powerful you have to handle it responsibly.” 

Peter could not be more in love with this woman if someone told him it would bring about world peace. He should probably feel overcome with the sheer intensity of the emotion but at this point it’s honestly starting to become his baseline emotional state. He wants to tell her that, wants to do something crazy like tattoo it on his forehead or hire a skywriter to follow her around, but even in this moment of manic recklessness, when he can feel himself itching to do the very thing he’s wanted for so long, he’s not _ that _reckless. A part of him that is not as easy to quiet as he’d like keeps reminding him that this moment they’re in together is going to pass, and he’ll still be Spider-Man when he wakes up in the morning, with all the responsibilities that go along with that. But when he looks at MJ, looks right into her beautiful eyes and feels the firm grip of her hand on his own, the moment just feels too good to let go of.

“In all my 16 years I have never met a mind as brilliant as yours.” He points at her. “You’re a goddamn genius.”

MJ squeals in delight and takes off again. “I knew I could appeal to the chaotic leo in you!” she shouts behind her shoulder as she races quickly through the people, pulling Peter along behind her.

When they reach the table, none of her table mates are there anymore, which is good because even with the sparkling cider ruse, Ned’s parents would probably still be suspicious if they saw both Peter and MJ dramatically down an entire glass of it and then run to the dancefloor. They’re both breathless but laughing as they make their way to their previous spots, half empty bottle of “sparkling apple cider” right where they left it earlier. MJ makes quick work of splitting the rest of its contents between their two glasses, handing him his with a giddy delight that he almost never gets to see from her. It’s hard for him to imagine ever drinking anything that makes him feel more drunk than the sound of her happy giggles do. He watches as she stands up to her full height, straightening her jacket and tie before picking up her drink and looking at Peter expectantly. He follows suit, eyes not leaving hers as he stands up and steps a bit closer than he normally would. She smiles and bites her lip. 

“MJ—” 

A voice calls from somewhere to the side of them and they both turn towards it like they’ve been caught doing something a lot more lucidious than just drinking champagne. Queen Nakia and Pepper are stood at the end of a row of tables, clearly chatting about something exciting, if their huge grins are anything to judge by, and also waving over at MJ to join them. Peter shoots one annoyed look in Pepper’s direction before turning to look back at MJ. He can’t hold back the soft laugh that escapes him when he sees her expression of surprised delight at being beconned over by the two women. He can see the moment it takes for her to remember that she is— or really _ was— _in the middle of something, and does his very best to hold back his fond grin when she shakes herself out of her surprise and holds up a finger in the direction of the ladies. 

“Uh.” MJ turns towards Peter with a look that clearly says “oh my god” and hands him her champagne glass. “You stay right here and I—” She reaches down and straightens out his vest again like she had earlier, but this time she leaves her hands resting on his chest. “will be right back to finish this.” She grins at him and then she’s walking away towards the two women. 

Peter uses his first two MJ free moments to regulate his heart rate again. He swears to _ god _that if there ever comes a day where he actually gets to kiss her he’s gonna drop dead right then and there. He’d only kind of been joking when he’d told her she looked hot enough to kill a man. He’s the man and he’s barely holding on. Even now, all the way across the row of tables from him, she’s still so gorgeous, it’s like he physically cannot take his eyes off her. The way she looks when she talks about something she cares about is the stuff of poets. Her eyes so focused, her brow just slightly furrowed, the way her lips tug down at the ends when she listens— all of it. It’s like she’s a famous masterpiece in The Louvre and he’s just some tourist that can’t get over how vibrant her colors are in person. 

“Careful,” Tony’s voice sounds from just beside him. “The last time I looked at a girl like that across a crowded room, we ended up getting married.” 

Peter takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, lets his head fall helplessly backwards, and in the most earnest voice he has, says, “From your lips to god’s ears.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says, and Peter looks over to see his expression of sheer delight. 

“What?” Peter questions. 

“Is your wedding present to me you finally admitting out loud you have feelings for MJ?” 

Peter nearly chokes. “_Finally _ admitting!? How long do you think I’ve had feelings for MJ?” he asks, incredulously, but then thinks better of it. “You know what? Don’t answer that.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m better off not knowing.” He looks back over at Tony. “To answer your question: yes. This is me _ finally _admitting out loud that I am in love with MJ. Happy wedding.” 

“Kid,” Tony sing songs excitedly. “This is so exciting! May and Pepper and I have been talking about this for months! I can’t wait to tell them!” 

“Okay well don’t get too excited, Pepper already knows. I told her a few hours ago,” Peter says through a little laugh. 

Tony deflates a little at that. “Damn.” He looks at Peter and then smiles again. “This is still big news though, kid.” He puts his hand on Peters shoulder and gives him a jovial shake. “And can i just say: bravo on your taste in women. MJ is a keeper. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like her.”

“Thank you. I had no control over it and even to this day wish that I could find even one flaw bad enough to break the illusion that she an immortal sent to earth for the express purpose of driving me into an early grave, but I really do appreciate the sentiment,” Peter deadpans. 

Tony, who at this point is used to him being this dramatic just nods in understanding. “What’s your play, kid?”

“Honestly?” Peter looks at him seriously. “I have none. I am currently in the middle of a foolhardy attempt to forget about the numerous reasons that I should absolutely _ not _ shoot my shot with the ethereal being that is my crush and instead see where chaotically chugging champagne and dancing with her leads me.” 

Tony looks at him for a moment and then purses his lips. “Okay. Setting aside the part about how you shouldn’t shoot your shot, which we will litigate at a later time, and the part where you two somehow got your hands on champagne,” He glances at the glasses Peter is still holding in either hand. “Dancing is definitely a good move right now,” he asserts. 

Peter raises his eyebrows in question. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, bud,” he assures. “You get her out on the dance floor, have the DJ put on the perfect song, and just—listen, I would say just be yourself but you and I both know if this is gonna end up the way you’re hoping it will, dialing the _you_ back is probably the wisest move.” 

Peter nods knowingly. “I agree with you completely. Only problem is: your wife stole her.”

Tony grins and giggles like an idiot. “I have a wife!” 

Peter grins back and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, that's true! You’re married. You’re gonna do married people things now. Like file joint taxes.” He does a little shimmy for extra excited emphasis. 

Tony’s grin gets even bigger but then he shakes himself. “Anyway, back to the plan!” 

“We have a plan?” Peter raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, Peter. Operation Romantic Dance. Try to keep up. I've got a lot of money riding on this,” Tony looks at him seriously.

“You guys really make bets on my love life?” Peter asks, half annoyed, half amused. 

“No. Of course not. We make bets on your life. It’s not a love life unless you actually do something with your feelings. Which brings me to The Plan™️,” Tony says smiling devilishly.

“Cruel but accurate. Go on.” Peter gestures for him to continue with one of the champagne glasses. 

10 minutes later the plan is ready to be executed. Truth be told, Peter isn't entirely sure what all the moving parts are, but as far as he can tell, his only jobs are to get MJ out on the dancefloor and have fun, which he’s fairly confident he can manage. Tony makes his way smoothly to where the three ladies are still chatting and does a sort of friendly back and forth with them until he can pull Pepper away. After, as predicted, MJ and Nakia finish up their conversation quickly and before Peter can even freak out about what happens next she’s a few feet away from him, smiling a huge, giddy smile. 

“Hey,” he says, lips curved up in a soft smile he knows only breaks out when she’s around. He nods over to where she’d just come from. “What’d they want?” 

“Oh nothing major.” She shrugs her shoulders entirely unconvincingly. “They just wanted to talk about getting lunch the next time Nakia is in New York.” 

Peter looks at her expectantly. “And you’re still alive?” 

MJ’s facade breaks almost immediately. She brings her hands up to cover her face and lets out a tiny, excited squeal. “This MUST be a dream. I am simply dreaming. I am dreaming a lovely, perfect, pleasant dream and any second now i’m gonna wake up to my mom blasting motown at 8am on a Saturday morning and complaining about the apartment being a mess.” 

Peter snorts. “Nope. This is real life. But it’s good to know other moms do that too, and it isn’t just May’s way of getting revenge on me for being a superhero without her permission.” 

MJ slowly drags her hands away from her face and shakes her head. “Weirdest fucking day of my goddamn life.” She takes a few steps closer to him and takes her glass back. “I think now might be a very good time to—” she mimes tossing back her drink. 

He nods and takes a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” 

“Okay count of three.” She looks at him. “One, two,” She bites her lip and flashes her signature grin at him. His heartbeat picks up in his chest. “Three!” 

The two of them knock back their glasses, taking hasty gulps of the bubbly liquid until it’s all gone and their back to looking at each other with matching expressions of disgust. It doesn’t actually taste _ that _bad, but the bitterness of the taste mixed with the carbonation he’s only used to in very sweet sodas makes it taste that much worse to him. Peter swallows his last mouthful around a grimace that makes MJ laugh so hard she almost loses what’s left in her own mouth. To his credit, he only blushes a little bit as he brings the glass down to it’s previous place on the table. 

Somewhere to Peter’s far left the DJ says something about getting everyone out onto the dance floor for the last few songs before the cake is cut which, if he remembers correctly, is the signal he and Tony agreed would be his cue to get onto the dance floor. The first few beats of _ Don’t Stop The Music _play over the speakers and then he is hit with the sudden and horrible realization that despite all of this being his own idea, he doesn’t actually know how to dance. He’s seized with a horrible momentary panic as he looks back over at MJ and sees that her face is lit up into an amplified version of her usual grin, head and shoulders bobbing to the beat of the song. As always, she reads him like a book. Without him prompting, she leans in a bit closer from where she was already leaned in pretty fucking close, still wearing her grin.

“You don’t know how to do this, do you?” she whispers right next to his ear. He shakes his head, unsure if she means the dancing part or just the being even remotely like a normal human being part. Either way the answer is no so it works. She must feel the movement of his head, because there’s no way she could see it with how close she’s standing. “That’s okay.” She takes his hand again, pulling away. “I can lead this time.” And before he can unpack all of _ that _ she’s pulling him along the side of the room and towards the dance floor, hand wrapped tightly around his again. When they reach the edge she lets go but turns around to look at him and gestures him forward as she mouths the first lines of the first verse at him and backs onto the floor, moving her body to the rhythm of the song. 

And listen. Peter Parker is proud to consider himself a fourth wave feminist. He’s done a lot of work to understand the movement and the role he should play in it. He’s read the greats: Bell Hooks, Audre Lorde, Gloria Stienum, etc. He patrols every Woman’s March, has a Support Planned Parenthood sticker on his laptop, and frequently defends Rey’s abilities as a Jedi during Star Wars discourse. It’s a big part of his personal brand. So he knows how important it is to view women as whole people and not physical objects to be admired or lusted after. He knows this. When he sees MJ take off her suit jacket, toss it over the nearest chair and then sway, hips moving fluidly in perfect time with the beat of the song, back over to him, lust after her he u n d e n i a b l y does. Sue him. MJ is the hottest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life and she’s _ gyrating _right in front of him. He might never be the same. 

It only takes until the end of the first chorus for him to get the basics of dancing down to a science. This is mostly thanks to the rapt attention he his paying to MJ’s, admittedly pretty excellent, example. An important fact that he has learned today and that he will never forget for the rest of his life is that, when presented with the right song, MJ can _ dance. _ And not just the shuffle around in your spot kind of dancing but the _ oh you’ve definitely received training in this area _kind of dancing, and isn’t that a rabbithole he can’t wait to jump down.

Once he’s got a decent groove going, the song kind of does the rest of the work for him. He sways in place, hips moving in time with MJ’s as Rihanna works her magic between them and the energy from the other dancers settles on him. The pre-chorus comes again and MJ takes his hand and pulls him impossibly close to her right as Rihanna says “we’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face.” Both of them laugh loudly, grinning faces inches apart before they both pull back to, in Peter’s case, very over confidently spin, before returning back to his safe two step shimmy combo. 

“You’re pretty good at this for someone who just claimed to not know how to do it,” MJ shouts at him over the music. 

He smiles and bobs his head. “That’s the power of Rihanna.” In reality, his being any good at this is probably due to his spider powers, but can’t say that here and it’s also probably at least a little bit that this was the perfect song for him to venture into the art with so. It’s not a while lie. MJ just rolls her eyes and continues moving her hips in that insanely coordinated way and Peter sort of gets lost in it for the rest of the song. 

After it ends, phantom mama-say, mama-sa, ma-ma-ko-ssas fade into quiet, the dance floor is filled with giggles and deep breaths as it’s occupants come down from the high of the song. Over the loudspeaker, the DJ announces that they’re slowing things down for a little bit and a few people shuffle tiredly back to their seats. A slow bluesy song that Peter is pretty sure is by Otis Redding comes on and the remaining dancers around them all seem to couple off within seconds, two by two, until it feels like he and MJ are the only people not dancing. He’s not exactly sure what gives him the courage to offer her his hand, but he’s very grateful that she takes it without question. This time it’s him who leads her further onto the dancefloor so that they’re near the center, cloaked pretty well by the other couples on the floor. 

When he stops to think about it, which he actively tries to avoid doing, Peter has done a lot of things that seem very coupley with MJ. The two of them are constantly together, they apparently wear each other’s clothes, when they go out to eat they do that thing where they order two different dishes they both want and then split them, they’ve shared beds during sleepovers, they call each other during emergencies, they constantly advocate for each other’s mental and physical health, and both of them have pretty decent relationships with the other’s parents. They are not just friends, they are close friends and sometimes that looks too similar to how he imagines it would be to date her, but there’s a barrier between them that they are careful to never push against. A barrier that keeps all of their seemingly coupley actions firmly platonic. And even with all that precedent, when MJ takes his arms, wraps them around her waist and then wraps her own around his neck, it feels like the invisible line that marks the limit of their platonic intimacy has been officially crossed. They’re swaying together, noses inches apart, heartbeats pressed firmly against the other’s chest, and eyes locked in a dreamy intensity that Peter wouldn’t break if the world started ending around him. 

_ 🎵 I've been loving you a little too long to stop now 🎵 _

This close to her, he can’t help but notice everything that he spends all of his energy always trying not to notice. Not just about her, but about the way she makes him feel. She is confident in how she moves, like she’s confident in everything else she does. Her arms are sure around his neck and maybe for the first time ever he realizes that more than anything else, what he feels when he’s with MJ is safe. And that— that’s not something love has ever felt like for him. The song plays it’s jazzy notes and she finds a way to move to its melody. Peter’s new to dancing but he is decidedly not new to trusting MJ, so it’s remarkably easy to lose himself again to the sounds around him and the feeling of being totally and completely in love. She leads and he follows, without overthinking, without second guessing, without question. 

_ 🎵 I love you with all of my heart and I can't stop now🎵 _

He’s not sure if it’s the champagne or the moment that is causing the warm glow inside of him, but it’s building up in his chest in a way that feels something like jumping off of a skyscraper. MJ’s brown eyes look like everything his sappy 16 year old brain could ever want for the rest of his goddamn life. And he’s sure he’s being ridiculous, knows how rare it is that anyone finds the person they’re meant to be with when they’re as young as the two of them are, but he doesn’t care. He can see his entire future in the flakes of black that line the edge of her irises, in the crookedness of her one front tooth, in the curve of her lips when she smiles. All at once he’s hit with the sudden urge to kiss her and this is it. All of everything he’s done since he took her hand and left that side room down the hall has led to this moment. His plan, Tony’s plan, it’s all gotten him right to where we wanted. He’s got the girl of his dreams— his best friend— in his arms, he’s got a gorgeous song screaming exactly how he feels for the entire world to know, and as he looks at her he...can’t do it. 

Like a flood, his reasons, the ones he’d been pushing away for half the evening, make their untimely return. He’s still Spider-Man, still training to be an Avenger, still insanely busy making insanely dangerous enemies and putting himself into risky positions. MJ is still his best friend, one of the two people his age that he’s ever built any kind of relationship with. Messing up that friendship— losing the person he feels safest with— that’s not something he can afford to do. He can’t change who he has a responsibility to be, but he can change who he hurts with it. Plus, dancing with him like this doesn’t automatically mean MJ is in love with him too. He keeps willing himself to remember these things, to keep them at the forefront of his brain while they finish the song out and another one replaces it. 

In front of him, MJ is uncharacteristically pensive as she rests her head on his shoulder next to her arm. He swallows around his own righteous internal lecture and quietly speaks. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

MJ huffs out a soft breath against his neck and his body erupts in goosebumps from head to toe. She lifts her head again to look at him, lips just slightly curved in a smile. “It’s gonna cost you a lot more than that to get inside this head, Parker.” 

Peter raises his eyebrows and smirks. “I’m pretty sure I’m a trust fund baby now, so I can probably afford it. But like— not until I'm 25 and have two master's degrees probably. So...do you except very post dated cheques?” 

“I do not.” 

“Damn. Guess i’ll never know.”

MJ looks at him for a long moment, eyes and smile soft. “I guess you never will,” she asserts. 

Peter repeats his list of reasons to himself twice before speaking again, leaping onto the one subject he knows for sure will lead away from the intensity between them. “It sucks that Claire couldn’t be here today, I know she would have loved the food,” he remarks casually. He and MJ’s mom, Claire, have recently bonded over a mutual love for Food Network cooking competition shows and spend the majority of their conversations circling the topic. He’s not sure if she likes him, but he knows that she worries about MJ not being social enough so he suspects that she puts up with he and Ned frequently visiting to do homework or watch movies for that reason. 

“Yeah it does,” MJ agrees, still leading the two of them in a two step sway to the soft music playing around them. “I’m pretty sure she thinks Tony, Pepper, and May are all in a throuple so it would be really funny to see her reaction to the night.” 

Peter’s eyes go very wide. “Oh my god _ WHAT_?” He looks at her incredulously. 

She laughs. “Yeah I don’t think she understands the family dynamic between you guys so I think the simplest explanation in her mind is that the three of them are all dating.” 

Peter gapes. “And she’s just...fine with the fact that your best friend’s parents are a polyamerous throuple?”

MJ shrugs, still laughing. “I believe her exact words were, ‘I mean I get it, look at the three of them, but I think I'd be too tired.’” 

Peter snorts out a huge laugh. “I am screaming.” 

“Peter when I tell you I have been sitting on this knowledge for a cool two months I mean it.” MJ can barely talk through her laughs. “I don’t even know why, I think I just want to watch the three of them find out organically.” 

“Oh my god.” Peter can barely breathe through his laughs now. “We are never telling anybody. This is too good.” 

MJ shakes her head. “It would have all crumbled if she were here tonight, though, because I'm pretty sure May is five minutes away from leaving with your waiter,” MJ gives him a knowing look and then glaces to the side. Peter follows her gaze and sees May sitting at a table off to the side of the rest still talking with the waiter that had served them all evening, two empty wine glasses in either of their hands. He looks back at MJ with wide eyes. 

“Okay answer me this,” he starts, barely containing his grin. “Which one of us gets the ‘don’t wait up’ text sooner, me for May and Mr. definitely a cool 20 years younger than her over there or you for Ned and James?” 

MJ purses her lips and looks at him like she knows something he doesn’t. “Let me ask you this.” She cocks her head to the side. “Have you seen Ned since our Star Wars debate?” 

“Oof. Good point,” Peter says soberly and then stops to consider it. “Is it weird that I'm rooting for May?” He frowns in question. 

“I think it’s very mature of you,” MJ answers. “She deserves it a little action. Afterall, she’s gonna be away from her boyfriend and girlfriend for two whole weeks while they’re on their honeymoon.” Neither one of them makes it through the full sentence without busting out laughing. 

**March 22st, 12:02am.**

Peter steps out of the shower and onto the tiled floor of the spacious ensuite bathroom that is attached to his room in the suite Tony and Pepper rented for he and May to stay in after the wedding. Everything is wet and slippery with the steam from the shower but he manages to make it to the sink without breaking his neck. He wets his toothbrush, puts the paste on it, and starts scrubbing his teeth. As usual while brushing his teeth, he picks up his phone. 

_ May _ 💃🏻💫👠 _ : _ Hey sweetie! Listen, I might be a little late coming home tonight. I know you worry so I thought I’d let you know. I’m fine. Don’t wait up for me :) 

He nearly chokes on his minty spit. Cackling, he screenshots it.

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗: 👀 _ go off I guess… [screenshot 12:02:37] _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : YES MAY!!! _


	10. X.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon typical violence.

**X.**

**June 21st, 10:33 am**

It starts subtly. A feeling of unease that washes over Peter in microscopic waves that slide down his back as he opens his eyes against the brightness of the mid-morning sun. He sits up in bed, instinctively reaching for his web-shooters and sliding them on with the practiced ease of a person who’d been doing that exact thing for over three years. He scans, looking for an obvious culprit, some sort of great evil lurking in the shadows of his, admittedly, pretty shadowless bedroom. Nothing. His notebook and SAT prep book are haphazardly strewn across the top of his small desk. His hamper is sitting in its usual spot in the corner, clothes slung over the sides and bunched around it on the floor; his laptop is resting where he’d set it down against his BB-8 pillow in his chair. Everything is how he’d left it when he’d fallen asleep. And yet the feeling twinges in his chest. He slumps back down into his bed. Had he been having a nightmare so intense he’d woken up from the phantom anxiety? He’s not sure. When he can take a deep breath without the pressure of the feeling, he gets up. 

Except the feeling doesn’t go away. Instead, it persists all through his morning routine in a way that comes and goes, but never actually stays gone. He brushes his teeth and it’s there. His hair stands on end, the pit of his chest is alive in vibrations of warning, but as he looks frantically over his shoulder and around the tiny bathroom, absolutely nothing abnormal can be seen. And then it’s gone. He’s pouring the coffee May has left for him into his Thermos when, again, he gets the sudden and overwhelming urge to turn around. He looks like he’s trying to see a ghost for a second as his eyes snap in every direction of the room. And just as before, as suddenly as it came, the feeling subsides. 

Peter makes it to the second step down the stairs, laptop bag slung across his body and coffee-filled thermos clutched in his hand, before he feels the fourth wave. This time, he just stills, body crawling with a dull sort of itch that has absolutely nothing to do with being itchy. He wills himself to ignore it, takes another step down the stairs, and is overcome with the wrongness of his movements. He storms back up the stairs and into his apartment in a flash, not even stopping to undress, he just throws his stuff on his bed before he taps out the passcode pattern into the holographic sensors that splay out from his web-shooters into his palm. In a second, he’s swallowed whole by the nanite casing of his iron spider suit. 

“Good morning, Peter.” Karen’s voice greets him has his viewfinders slip into focus. “Looks like you have plans this morning to meet Ned and MJ at Cream & Sugar. Should I tell them you can't make it?”

“Yeah. Tell him I have to see a man about a spider.” There is a moment when his brain catches up to his actions and he remembers that his study session with MJ and Ned today is their last chance to hang out before Ned goes to Manila for the rest of the summer. He makes a mental note to swing by Ned’s apartment before going to sleep tonight. “Make me seem sorry,” He tells her in a rush. It’s a testament to the absolutely chaotic panic he’s feeling that he doesn't pause for Karen’s confirmation. He doesn’t hesitate at all before he opens the window to his bedroom and jumps out. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, except that it’s the right direction. The waves of unrest slide through him like the kind of chill you get from listening to _The_ _X-files_ theme by yourself at night. He uses them as his guide to get to where he’s going. Where they’re taking him. He knows only when he’s mid-swing that he’s going to the source of it all, whatever that might be. 

The route the feeling pulls him through is a mess of turns and back alleyways that start familiar and work their way to foriegn, and then back to familiar as he’s pulled further away from his neighborhood into other, more affluent ones. 

“Peter, where are we going?” Karen asks.

He doesn’t quite know how to answer that. He thinks briefly about telling her the truth, that he’s going to  _ it _ but he knows that it’ll only lead to more questions and he doesn't have time for questions. He doesn’t have time to think about anything other than the wiggle of  _ bad bad bad  _ in his chest that only gets  _ bad bad badder  _ the closer he swings in the direction of the culprit. 

“Karen, disengage communication with me until I say. I’ll explain later,” he says. She doesn’t respond. 

When he stops swinging, he’s good and lost, unsure of what part of the city he’s swung into, or how long he’d been swinging to get here. It felt like minutes but surely it had been longer. His eyes rake the street for something, anything that could clue him into why he’s been drawn to this spot in particular. The block looks normal, albeit a little light on pedestrian traffic, which isn’t unusual for 11am on a Monday, even if it is summertime. He shifts uneasily and wills himself to recall what Natasha has taught him during their biweekly lessons, to look for on reconnaissance missions. 

He relaxes his eyes and rescans the mix of restaurants and stores, looking for the inevitable patterns that always form in public spaces: foot traffic, shop numbers, customer demographics, etc. Foot traffic is a sparse southbound movement likely due to a nearby subway stop. Shop numbers increase by twos or three from the south end of the street to the north. Customer demographic skews towards working class people of color.  _ Normal, normal, normal.  _ He thinks as he lets out a frustrated groan. 

“Karen, I need you back,” Peter says through a grit. 

“You have me,” she replies. 

“I need your help. Something’s going on in this area, but I can’t figure out what,” Peter tries to inform. 

“What kind of something?” Karen asks. 

“A—,” As he opens his mouth to answer, a powerful wave of anxiety prickles down his back from his head to his heels like something is breathing hot, heavy, intimidating breaths on the back of his neck. He goes rigid with the magnitude of it. For a moment, he’s forced to prioritize taking a few deep breaths, mind going a little bit fuzzy as his nerves trash against his skin. Not for the first time while out Spider-Manning, he’s grateful to be wearing the suit. The built in sensory blockers that limit the intensity of his senses automatically are a godsend whenever he finds himself out of whack, though he can’t remember any of his past experiences wherein his senses have acted up feeling anything like this. Without the suit, he’s sure he’d be doubled over from the overload of input he’s feeling. It’s all he can do to grit out the rest of his sentence. “A very  _ bad _ something.” 

“Okay,” Karen says. “What do you need from me?” 

“Scan the block and report any discernible pattern of movement or design. Study the patterns for any abnormalities.” He commands. 

The suit releases a nanite drone in the shape of a spider and it flies off down the block to complete his request. Peter crouches down in the alleyway where he’s hiding and waits for the anxiety racking his body to ebb like it’s eventually done all morning. 10 minutes later, when the drone returns to his suit and Karen’s voice sounds again, it still hasn’t gone away.

“All data collected on recognizable patterns on and around this particular block of street is available in your viewfinder now. No abnormalities have been detected after thorough investigation.” 

Peter’s face pulls down into a hard frown.  _ What the fuck _ . 

_ Nothing. Absolutely nothing is going on in this area _ . 

But there has to be. There  _ has  _ to be. His body shakes under the pressure of a fresh wave of the feeling and he swallows thickly. 

He taps out the pattern on his palms and his suit retracts once more into his web-shooters on his wrists. He thinks himself through a rational course of action, strolling onto the street at a casual pace, feigning normality even as his gut twists and everything inside of him screams at him to be at high alert status. What are his options? He runs through the most obvious options: ignore it, keep searching, and call for help. None of them seem particularly appealing, especially considering he’s got no idea what else he could look for to clue him into what’s going on. He doesn’t want to call for help because how would he explain this to someone? Another spike of anxiety hits him. 

Ironically, Peter ends up sitting outside of a Cream & Sugar that is about halfway down the row of building, watching people and trying to find something, anything to clue him into what’s happening to him. The feeling eventually fades to a dull buzz underneath his skin and he’s forced, after 25 minutes of nothing, to concede that whatever is making him feel this way is not concealed in the brick and mortar of this block of shops. Clearly, he’s gotten something mixed up. He gets up and moves back to the alley he’d landed in before, does a scan to make sure he’s out of view from the street, and re-suits up. Just as he’s getting ready to to swing away, the feeling spikes again. This time, he literally lets out a strangled shout of panic and whips to gesture wildly at the nothing that surrounds him from every direction, sure that this time he’ll actually find the horrible thing that’s causing his insides to crumble.

“Oh my god,” He groans exasperatedly and eyes the time at the corner of his view. 11:56 a.m. Tony, who is in Malibu working on SI stuff for the next two weeks, would probably just be getting to his office. Peter hesitates for only a second before dropping his head in defeat. “Karen, call Tony for me please.” He says miserably. 

Tony picks up on the third ring. 

“Peter! What’s up, kid?” Tony’s voice sounds surprised, but not unhappy. Peter doesn’t usually call before his evening patrol. 

“Hey, Tony,” Peter says, trying for casual but obviously missing the mark. He can practically hear Tony’s brows knit together. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, worried. 

Peter swallows, unsure of where to start. “Um. Are you busy right now?” 

He hears the shuffle of papers being set down. “Not too busy to find out what’s wrong,” Tony drawls. 

Peter huffs out a sigh. “I think something bad is happening — or is gonna happen— on a specific block in — Karen where are we?”

“Elmhurst” Karen supplies. 

“—Elmhurst.” He finishes. 

Tony is quiet for a moment. “You think there’s something bad happening in Elmhurst?” He clarifies, apparently not understanding. 

“On a specific block in Elmhurst, yes.” Peter responds. 

“Why?” 

Peter feels his cheeks getting red under his mask, embarrassed to say it out loud. “I don’t know how to describe it. I can just tell,” he tries to explain.

“You can just tell?”

“It’s like when I do tactical training with Steve and I can always dodge the air pellets, or when I play Kahoot! in class and can always tell the answer. I don’t know how I know, but I know that I  _ do _ . I can feel it in my body, like when see the color red or smell the lavender in May’s shampoo,” He says in an earnest appeal for understanding. “Only this time it’s so much more intense than it's ever been. It won’t go away and it’s telling me that something bad is going on  _ this _ block.” 

“Okay,” Tony says after a brief pause. “Okay, walk me through this, buddy. You were in Elmhurst and when you passed by this particular block your spidey sense, for lack of a better term, went nuts?”

Peter starts shaking his head as Tony talks. “No no no.” He rushes to correct. “I was at home, Tony. I was asleep. I woke up feeling like something was really wrong, and I thought it was a dream so I ignored it. But the feeling kept coming back and eventually I put on my suit and let it lead me to the source. I’ve been here for like, an hour, and I can’t find anything weird going on.” 

Tony swallows thickly. “Kid are you—” He pauses, as if he’s trying to place his words carefully. “Are you saying your spidey sense brought you all the way to Elmhurst from May’s? And you can’t find anything weird?” 

“Yes!” He nearly whines and then because he can’t stand feeling it for one more second without someone understanding he says, “ _ Something’s wrong, Tony _ ” with all the gravitas his panic can convey. 

“Friday, are you listening?” Tony asks from the other end of the line. 

“Always, boss,” She answers right away. 

“Run a level 3 scan of the entire block Peter is standing on right now,” Tony requests in a calm but firm voice. Peter lets out a breath of relief at the fact that Tony believes him. 

“Peter,” he says, gentler than he normally is, as if he can sense Peter’s rapidly deteriorating composure. “I need you to tell me what exactly you’ve been feeli—” 

Peter can sense it before it even happens. The low buzz that’s settled under his skin in the past half hour roars to life again like someone, somewhere poured lighter fluid right onto it’s open flame. Fiery hot licks of warning climb through his body from his gut to his chest and then they consume every last inch of his brain until he can only think of one word. 

_ Run. _

In a millisecond, he turns towards the nearest building to web his escape, but before his finger can press into the web-shooter, before he can get enough momentum on the asphalt beneath his feet, before his brain really even registers all that his senses are screaming at him, his body is flying backwards into the street with the force of an explosion that rips apart the row of neat business that make up the city block. 

When he comes to, He has no idea how long he’s been unconscious. Everything is on fire. He’s buried under a blanket of shrapnel, under pieces of rubble and glass from the buildings that had been blown apart around him. With enormous effort, he whips his head from side to side in search of some sort of explanation. His vision blurs a few times before the street comes into focus. The scene that unfolds before his eyes makes his stomach churn. Bodies, lots of them, are laid out on the pavement and road, piled under and over the chunks of what used to be the block. Most of the structures on the street are blown open, walls and roofs in pieces that litter the surrounding streets. A lot of the debris is either smoldering or ablaze in violent orange and red flames that stick out to him in the smoky haze. 

Around him, people are waking up, a general panic spreading among those who are able to move as they attempt to find whoever they’d come with.

_ Shit.  _ He thinks to himself.  _ Shit shit shit.  _

Heavily, Peter looks down at his body. He’s covered from the chest down with a giant chunk of building that still has the frame of a door attached to it, splintered planks of wood lying off to the side. He groans and then winces, finding the intake of breath more than his clearly wounded body can handle. He stills himself for the effort he’s about to exert, trying frantically to gather his wits. Only when the sounds of sobbing and the groans of pain come into dull relief does he realize that his ears have been ringing, all outside sounds blocked out by it. He swallows in the way that he normally does to test the pressure in his ears after a flight and pain bubbles behind his temples in small pops. It makes his throat hurt. 

He lets his head rest back against the pavement from where he’s lifted it to observe. For a second, he just lies there and forces himself to fight through the barrage of sensory input to take inventory of his own injuries. Top to bottom he moves. His head hurts, that much is apparent. He probably has, at the very least, a concussion from hitting the ground in the blow back from the explosion. That’s not ideal but it also isn’t life threatening. He keeps going, mentally clearing out everything around him to identity any feelings specific to his person. Distantly he thinks about trying to move his arms but even as he they lift up on either side of him, his entire body feels like nothing. 

Right. He’s in shock. He must be if he can still move his arms but he can’t really feel them. He’s in shock because there’s just been an explosion. There’s been an explosion and he is in the middle of it. His spidey sense had been right. There was something very bad that was about to happen here. And it has happened. And now he’s in shock. He’s in shock because there’s just been an explosion. His brain works in a dull circle as he tries to process all that is going on. He can’t do anything to shake himself out of it and he’s not entirely sure he should. So he sits and repeats the thoughts for a couple minutes. 

It's the sound of other people stirring around him in distress that jolts him into action. It’s risky to move while he can’t feel any of the pain in his body, but he can’t just stay put while there are people hurt. He summons all of his strength to his upper half, teeth gritting in determination as he lifts the giant block of concrete up and off to the side. It’s simultaneously easier than he expects it to be and altogether more horrible. Immediately, the reality of his physical pain comes crashing over him, like someone has unmuted the sound of it and now it’s cranked to full volume. It’s everywhere, his chest, his arm, his back, his legs. Most pressingly, he knows he’s broken his arm. He can feel it literally break under the weight of the block as it’s shifted to the side and his cry gets caught in his throat as he pulls it back to his chest to cradle it. Then, like his brain had been waiting for his body to come back online, his thoughts catch up with him. 

“Tony?” He croaks out, only just remembering that he’d been on the phone with him. “Tony, are you still there?” 

“Phone lines are out, Peter.” Karen’s concerned voice comes through the sound system in his mask. “I have been been trying to notify you of my presence, but your hearing seems to have been temporarily damaged in the explosion. Can you hear me more clearly now? 

Peter’s eyes shut tightly as relief floods over him at Karen’s voice. It’s not Tony, but it’s almost as good. It’s the AI that Tony built for him, to protect him when he needs it. He suddenly realizes that he’s still suited up. Still Spider-Man in the midst of chaos and destruction and — his eyes catch on a body laying motionless a few feet away from him — and tragedy. He swallows again, thickly. It’s painful, but significantly less than it had been before. His healing factor is clearly working. 

“Karen,” He says through a breath. “I can. I can hear you and —” He looks around at the wreckage again. “everything else,” he finishes darkly. “What happened?” 

“Explosion. Bomb seems to have detonated from the apartment that was above the antique shop. Reason unknown,” she says flatly. “Peter, I feel it prudent to inform you that not all of the suit’s systems are operational. We sustained significant damage in the explosion.” 

“Okay,” Peter says and then when his brain fully processes that, he says it again. “Okay. What systems are down?” 

“Your defense systems are almost completely down. You still have access to your web fluid through your shooters but all tactical programming is inaccessible. You are also unable to record or send messages through the suit. Your phone shattered on impact,” she says, then she answers his next question without him having to ask it. “All communication is down. You can't contact anyone who isn't here with you.”

“Fuck,” he swears aloud. “Of all the fucking useless systems Tony built into the suit  _ those  _ are the ones I loose?” 

“I know. This will significantly limit your abilities. But Peter, you can work around them. I will help you,” she says encouragingly.

Peter nods. “Yeah. I know.” He looks down at his body from where he’s still sitting on the pavement next to the block that had fallen on him. “Med emergency is still operational?” He ventures to ask. 

“It is.” 

“What’s the damage here?” he asks, gesturing his uninjured arm to his body. 

“First and foremost,” she starts and Peter feels his suit tighten around what he’s sure is the break in his left arm. “Your left radius is severely fractured. I have compressed the affected area with extra nanites as a temporary treatment. You have also sustained a fracture to two of your left ribs and have badly bruised those surrounding them. All fractures will likely begin to heal soon but will not heal properly unless you remain immobile long enough for that process to run its course. Am I wrong in the assumption that you remaining immobile is highly unlikely?” 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “You are not.” He responds honestly. 

“Then it’s safe to say you can expect a painful couple of hours.” Karen says plainly. 

He nods and brings his shoulders up in a slight shrug. “Noted.” 

He shifts his gaze around him again, eyes moving over the several people who have gotten up and the larger number of people who have not. “How many are dead?” he asks gravely. 

“Do you really want me to answer to that question right now?” she responds. 

He lets out a long breath, ribs protesting under its pressure.  _ I should,  _ he thinks.  _ I should want to know.  _ But even as he thinks it, he knows it won’t help him keep anyone alive. “No.” He breaths out. “No, okay. You’re right. I’m thinking about this wrong. I need to —” He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again. “I need to come up with a plan.” 

The first thing on his mind is:  _ Ask for Tony’s help _ . Which isn’t helpful.  _ Not an option, _ he reminds himself as he surveys the crumbling line of buildings to his left. He just really needs Tony’s eyes. Needs his ability to see the whole picture of the incident. Karen is a godsend, but her programming is limited while he’s still completing his training programs. She can’t access all the information that Tony could have Friday access. 

He groans frustratedly and forces himself to go back to the training sessions he’d been in every other weekend of the year. There were procedures he’d been taught. Instructions to guide him through situations like this. In his head he can see Steve and Natasha’s lessons, can remember the discussion based trainings he’s been doing intermittently and he  _ knows _ that he’s been told want to do when he reaches this point in an emergency situation, but all the words on the whiteboard inside his mind are blurry. Steve and Natasha’s voices are distant mumbles, no matter how hard he tries to focus in on them, and he can feel panic start to well up in his chest again because he knows this, he should definitely know this. He cuts off his thoughts with a growl of aggravation. 

He can’t remember. His brain will literally not feed him any of the information he’s been trained to remember.  _ Brilliant.  _ He almost curses out loud, anger at himself adding to the mix of scared and anxious that he’d already been stewing in for the past few minutes. Around him, the other victims of the explosion are shifting and coming to—the need for his assistance increasing with each passing moment. The panic surges inside of him again, and he’s not entirely sure it’s connected to the sounds of people stirring or something else more sinister. He forces everything aside and focuses, not on what he’s been taught, but on what his gut is telling him to do. And like it’s actually playing on a loudspeaker, Tony’s annoying lecture from almost a full year ago comes back to him. 

“ _ When disaster strikes and you’re in the middle of the mess, you have a really important choice to make that no one else can make for you. You have to decide if you want to be the helper or the hero. _ ” The words wash over him like cold water against sunburnt skin, the kind of relief that almost hurts. At the time, he’s sure he did not understand what Tony was trying to say. He’d heard the words but he didn’t  _ know _ . Now that Peter’s actually in the middle of the mess, he thinks he might actually get it. He has to choose. If he wants to make any kind of plan to move forward, he has to figure out if he wants to focus on catching whoever did this helping the victims on the ground. 

_ What’s your job, Peter? What’s your job, Spider-Man?  _

He doesn’t need the very timely wrecked sob that sounds from a woman who’d just found her  _ somebody _ huddled under dust and debris on the road across the way from him. He’s already made up his mind. He’d made up his mind months ago, really. Back when he was half asleep, sitting on his bed with MJ, trying to figure out what classes he could start taking to become a better Spider-Man. He’d spent the first few years he’d had with his abilities being a  _ hero _ and not caring about the mess he left in his wake, but that’s not what he does anymore. That’s not who he wants to be. It isn’t his job to catch bad guys, at least not right now. Maybe later, when he’s made sure that everyone is safe and receiving treatment. Right now he knows what his job has to be. And as soon as he does, the plan slides firmly into place after it. 

“Okay.” Peter pulls his eyes away from the distressed woman. He forces himself to focus on the big picture first. “First things first, I need you to disable the training wheels protocol,” he informs Karen, evenly. 

“Peter, though I agree that disabling the protocol will greatly improve your ability to aid in this situation, you are not authorized to make that call,” Karen responds gently. 

“Don’t do it on my authority.” He says heavily. “Do it on Tony’s.” 

He knows it’s a long shot. Knows that Tony is probably not still in front of the holo in his office. Tony is probably suited up and flying towards New York right now, all administrative notifications on do not disturb until he gets to where Peter’s GPS location is sending him. But Peter has to try it. He can’t walk into the situation without knowing what’s going on and the only way for him to know is for him to try. 

He waits patiently for Karen to attempt the authorization, forcing himself onto his feet with effort. 

38 long seconds later, Karen’s voice sounds again. “Mr. Stark approved the request. We now have access to all of his personal, team, and business servers.” 

The image in Peter’s viewfinders shifts with the influx of information flooding his suit. He lets out a huff that’s halfway to a laugh. Even if he can’t talk to Tony, he still knows he’s not alone. He knows that somewhere, Tony is still watching his back. And he trusts Peter with the suit’s full capabilities. The relief of that knowledge is like a fire in his chest as he turns to the half standing buildings that surround him. 

“Give me eyes on everything. I want a full scan of who is on the block, how long they’ve been here, and if they’re capable of movement. I need information on the structural integrity of the buildings damaged in the explosion, too.” 

Right away Karen launches several nanite spider drones which fly in opposite directions to give Peter the eyes he’s requested. The feed from the cameras at the end of each drone are directed into his vision, four small screens forming one box fit at the bottom corner of his visual display. Each drone does a scan of the structures in their section, displaying all the information he’d asked for. 

Most buildings are okay despite a lot of damage. Only 5 or 6 look to be in danger of collapse anytime soon. Unfortunately, almost every one of them have a significant number of people still trapped inside and as he glances around him, there are even more people who need aid on the street and sidewalk. His mind works through the information as it’s fed to him, plan forming and then reforming with each bit he gets. A thought occurs to him. 

“How long until first responders are on scene?” He asks 

“First wave of responders should be on site in 2 minutes and 37 seconds,” Karen informs him. 

He considers it for a second before making his next call. “Deploy the Iron Legion,” He finally says. And then after thinking it over and agreeing again that it's the best call, he says, “Let me know when Tony clears the action.” 

Karen doesn't respond right away so he turns his attention to the woman in front of him. His viewfinders are helpfully displaying the heart rates of all the people around him. Unfortunately that means he can see how many people don't have them. The sea of tiny zeros makes his stomach twist into tight knots.

_ Who on Earth did this?  _ He thinks as he moves forward. The woman is alive but from the looks of it, not awake. He distantly hopes she doesn't wake up until they’ve brought her to a safer place. Somewhere that looks a bit less like some hyper realistic version of hell. Next to the woman’s head, Peter’s eyes catch on a bright blue scrap of paper tucked halfway under some debris. He bends down to pick it up and then realizes, once he has it up close, that it’s a half burnt strip of coffee cup from Cream & Sugar. A sharp pang anxiety cuts through him again, intense as it had been before the explosion. His mind moves faster than he can keep up with, head pain threatening to overcome him again as it does.

Suddenly, Karen is back and his brain is forced quiet against her voice. “The legion has been deployed. Arrival to be expected in 3 minutes” 

“Okay, good.” He says through a sigh of relief. His ears pick up the distant sound of sirens. He walks quickly in the direction they’re coming from in the back corner of the block, and he goes over what he wants to say. A swarm of emergency vehicles come storming into view and he waits at the edge of the scene to move into their sight. In the front, firefighters leap off their trucks and into action, ambulances stopping with a screech to do the same, no one seems even a little bit fazed by his presence, they have eyes only for the victims. He walks past them, grateful to not be the only help on the scene, over to the line of Police cars that’s formed behind them. Suddenly he feels every bit the 16 year old kid that no one knows he is.

He stops in front of the police car in the middle, where two officers are talking rapidly with dispatch through their walkie talkies. 

“Excuse me, officers.” Peter says, clearing his throat. He hates how young he sounds. They both look up at the same time and then their eyes go wide. 

The thing with the police is that Peter hasn’t ever really talked to them before. Not directly. Only through notes left with neatly webbed up criminals he’s stopped. And ever since his wake up call of a conversation with MJ the previous fall, the distance between spider-man and the Police has not exactly been unintentional. So it’s a big deal, he knows, that he’s talking to them right now face to face— or, uh—face to mask. But he doesn’t care about all that right now. Not in the middle of everything that’s happened. So he ignores their surprised looks and gets right to the point. 

“I was on the scene before the explosion happened. I believe it started in the apartment above the antique shop at the center of the block, right side. All of my scans of the area prior to the incident came back clean, so I don’t think we’re looking for a traditional explosive device.” He moves his gaze from one officer to the next before continuing. “I am happy to help with any other information you all might need moving forward with your investigation but my immediate concern is civilian safety.” He glances at his display of information briefly. “I have eyes on the whole block and I have an ongoing read out of the heat signatures and vitals of everyone in the area. There are a lot of people still trapped inside the buildings, i’m not sure how many are going to be able to leave on their own. I have a plan to get everyone out but I can’t do it by myself.” 

He stills himself for what he’s about to say, sure only when he gets to this part of his report that it’s true. He’s been feeling it since he woke up. It’s not just the shock of the explosion, it’s not just the intensity of the situation, it’s not just the pressure he’s feeling to not fuck up. It’s the same feeling he’d had all morning. Panic. Anxiety. Warning. 

He looks at the officers square in the eyes and says, “I can’t stress this enough, we need to evacuate the entire block as quickly as possible. Another explosion is imminent.” 

The officer to his left, a tall dark-skinned man with big eyes, looks at him with a tentative expression. “I—” He pauses before shaking his head as if to clear it. “How do you— How do you know there will be another explosion?” He asks wearily

Peter was prepared for this, had already thought through what he’d answer when he’s asked. “Officer, I’m asking you to trust me on this one. I have no reason to lie about this and I don’t have time to argue about it. People are in danger. We are all in danger. The only way this doesn't end in even more tragedy is if we trust each other and we work together.” He says in his most earnest voice. In the back of his mind he vaguely picks up that he sounds like Steve. 

The officer considers him for a moment and then shifts his gaze to his partner who, thus far, hasn’t said a word. She turns her frown to Peter and makes intense eye contact with him, lips pursing in thought before she finally speaks, “You said you were here before the first explosion happened?” Peter nods his head. “You knew about it?” She asks him, still unsure of him. 

“I didn’t know it was going to be an explosion, but yeah. I knew something bad was going to happen,” He tells her, earnestly. 

She eyes him more intently and nods slowly in consideration. “A couple years ago I saw you stop a completely full city bus going 45 miles an hour with your bare hands. They called it in to me and I was only one block over from where it was supposed to be next so I went to respond to it and I got on the scene just in time to watch you catch it and put it back down onto the road. You’re not human, are you?” 

Peter smiles under his mask. “Yes ma’am. I am human. Just not completely.” 

“Is the part of you that’s not human the part that’s telling you about the explosions?” She asks him quietly. 

Peter breathes heavily through his nose, trying not to get frustrated with the questions. “Yes. And that’s why I need you to trust me on this one.” 

She nods again and then turns back to the man next to her. “Jefferson, inform the rest of the men that we will be running a civilian evacuation effort under Spider-Man’s lead.” 

The man nods to her and turns to radio in the development. “Aye, Captain.” 

The captain turns back to Peter. “You said you have a plan?” 

Peter breathes out a relieved breath. He’s going to be able to do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for ending this on a cliff hanger but together with the following chapter it would just be to long. Please tell me how you're feeling right now I am begging to be egged on. 
> 
> Love you all for commenting and reading and enjoying. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves today.


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon typical violence.

**XI.**

**June 21st, 12:34pm**

It’s about 20 minutes later when the relief effort starts swinging in full motion. The first responders, Peter, and the Iron Legion are all working together to clear civilians from the street and the buildings as fast as possible, but the task isn’t as simple as they’d originally thought it would be. The buildings which seemed structurally secure upon first scan, are rapidly deteriorating in integrity as the attempts at civilian rescue are carried out. They have no choice but to move forward, though, because the longer it takes to secure the block the closer they move towards the uncertain time of the next explosion. The result looks something like the most high stakes game of Janga Peter’s ever played in his life.

When they started, there were 27 total structures on the block, all in various states of decomposer, and 198 live bodies spread among them, not including the rescue personnel. Finding a way to get to those trapped inside buildings without triggering their collapse requires a kind of physical control that neither of the other two factions in the team are particularly accustomed to. So really, it’s Peter who has to lead the way. 

Everyone is doing their part and then some, but Karen is the glue that holds the whole thing together. As soon as the Iron Legion arrives, Peter gives control of their commands over to her and tells her to put them where they’re needed most. The majority of the first responders are focusing their efforts on fire containment and civilian evacuation on the ground. Peter has taken it upon himself to go with a few of the most dexterous responders into the buildings to rescue the people trapped inside them. That's mostly where enlisting the legion proves to be a good call on Peter’s part because so much of the buildings are torn apart by the explosion and then the vibrations of the sheer number of people storming around the block that even getting to the places that he can read heat signatures requires a nightmarish amount of lifting and digging. 

Karen really, is the link that connects all the moving parts. Because she commenders the legion and is still running everything in Peter’s suit, she can use the various robotic soldiers to communicate with the responders on the ground. She keeps the flow of communication between them all open so that everyone knows what the other two factions are doing. 

Peter sees the rescue effort sort of like a hyper realistic VR video game. Karen has helpfully displayed the number of people that still need to be evacuated at the top right of his view so that he’s constantly aware of what's still left to do. Because the defense systems of the suit are down, her previous ability to map out the quickest path through the rapidly crumbling mess of the block is unavailable. That leaves Peter with only his basic knowledge of tactical planning and his admittedly super human instincts to lead their team to some version of victory. So he’s strategic in his movements, approaching the situation with something that mimics practiced ease. He tells himself over and over that if he just collects all the civilians then he can move on to the next level of the game even though he doesn’t quite know what that'll be.

Peter’s branch of the team moves quickly and succinctly from the buildings with the most pressing time frame in terms of structural integrity, to the least pressing ones, a system that is hard to maintain as the influx of movement on the block drastically exasperates the rate of deterioration. The truth is, all of the buildings are unsafe to leave civilians in for very long, so prioritizing one over the next seems a bit impossible, but he has to start somewhere and he knows the only way to the other side of this incident is through it. So he keeps his mind on watching the number of people who need evacuation drop and he pushes forward.

Eventually, on their 24th building and 172nd person saved, they get into one that had been especially affected by the foundational vibrations that they’d been making for the past 45 minutes. Peter’s read out of it’s integrity is practically plummeting even as they all take extraordinarily cautious steps towards the basement where a whopping 21 heat signatures seem to be trapped. Immediately, the structure starts crumbling as they cross into it. The already shaky foundation all but giving out under the barrage of weight they all add to it. Peter has no choice but to send his team out and onto the next structure on his list. He has to go at this one by himself. 

He turns his head to the group of people and robots behind him. “Listen, this building is not going to hold up under all of our weight. You guys go to the next couple of buildings and get the last few civilians to safety, I can handle this one by myself,” he tells them. 

One responder, a paramedic who’d asked him to call her Diaz before volunteering to help him clear the buildings, looks at him with a concerned expression. “What if someone down there is hurt? I should come with you. I can help.”

He’s shaking his head even before she’s finished. “No, it’s too risky. If the building is put under too much strain before we even get to those trapped then there will be no way to get them out without it collapsing around us. I’m gonna have to find the most stable path from here to them and then have them follow it out, and that's gonna require me doing a lot of spider things. It has to be me. You guys go.” 

She looks like she wants to argue but eventually drops her gaze. “Okay.” And then she looks up again, face set in determination as she looks at the rest of the group. “Alright. There are 5 civilians left in 3 buildings. We’re gonna have to find them without Spidey, which means we have to listen to everything Karen tells us through the Legion soldiers and be quick.” She turns towards Peter again. “Godspeed, kid. I’ll see you on the outside.” She and the rest of the team about face and climb through the opening in the wall they’d all climbed through a moment ago, and a second later they’re gone. For the first time since he started trying to rescue people, he’s all by himself. He pushes forward, but not without marking his steps with small splatters of web so he knows which parts of the floor are safe to walk on when he guides the civilians back. 

Despite the success of his plan so far, Peter doubts he’ll make it through to the end of the day feeling particularly victorious. As much as he thought he understood what Karen meant when she’d warned him of a painful couple of hours, he had greatly underestimated just how painful they would be. It might not come as a shock to anyone else, but willfully ignoring fractured ribs might be one of the hardest things to do as someone who still needs to be active. At this point, even the shallow breaths he's heaving out as he shifts through the veritable house of cards he’s in now, is an extraordinary demand to make of his body. And the physical pain isn’t even what’s weighing on him most. Worse than the pain in his arm which is also protesting under his constant use of it, worse even than his ribs as they send his entire abdomen into a screaming frenzy of pain, is the nonstop insidious feeling of warning that has set up camp inside his gut. 

His movements are spurred forward, albeit extremely carefully, as he makes his way to the completely blocked off door to the basement which, according to his display, is housing the trapped civilians. He takes only one second to stare tiredly at the cylinder beam that lies diagonally across the door frame before he begins to heave it to the side, every injury in his body alive with the effort. As he moves it, the crumbly mess of the structure begins to shake again. _ Jesus _ he thinks as he finally gets the door uncovered. 

Then Karen’s voice chimes in his ear. “Bad news, Pete.” 

“Has there been good news?” He asks exasperatedly as he rolls his eyes. “What’s happening now?” 

“The structure directly to the right of the one you’re currently located in has reached a dangerously low level of structural integrity. Collapse will likely cause increased damage to the remaining structures on the block. It is crucially important that you evacuate these civilians with haste. I’m concerned you will be unable to navigate the path back outside after the neighboring structure gives way,” she informs him. 

He tenses. “Have Diaz and the team gotten word? Are they going to be okay getting the other 5 people out?” He says, concern etched in his features.

“They know. They’re moving as quickly as possible and my estimates tell me they’ll be able to get everyone evacuated before further incident. I am more concerned about you, Peter. Your proximity to the impending collapse and the number of civilians you have to evacuate put you are at a much higher risk than the rest of the rescue effort. The odds aren’t in your favor.” 

And despite the damning nature of the forecast, he can’t help the smile his lips twitch into. “I can’t believe I finally get to say this.” And he closes his eyes to savor the moment. “Never tell me the odds, Karen.” he says in his best impression of Han Solo. 

He thinks he can hear Karen’s tired sigh but he doesn’t pay attention. 

Thankfully the door before him swings open at his first insistent body slam and the dusty and dark stairway behind it comes into view. Right away he hears them, the sounds of unrest and crying drifting up from the room below. He half runs, half jumps down the singular flight, ignoring the shout of discomfort around his ribs as he reaches the bottom and rounds the corner. And then his heart nearly stops. 

In the center of the room, bunched together in a big sort of huddle, is a grouping of children. 

The majority of them turn to look at him at his noisy entrance but a couple are too busy crying to notice his arrival. He’s shellshocked for one long moment. 

_ What on earth are a bunch of kids doing here? _He thinks to himself as he tries to remember what this particular structure was before the explosion. He can’t recall. He lets his eyes rake over the disheveled room for clues. It’s hard to tell, because the entire place looks like someone had picked it up and given it a few hard shakes before sitting it back down again, but he thinks maybe he’s in some sort of art classroom. There are a lot of paintings and framed photographs strewn about and if he squints he can just make out a giant pixie stick-like pile of paint brushes in a far corner next to a knocked down desk.

“Spider-man?” A kid says through a wobbly voice. 

Peter moves his eyes back to the huddle. “Hi,” he says and then he clears his throat and steps towards them. “Is everyone okay?” 

A little girl in the front of the huddle with two pigtail puffs on either side of her head stands up. Peter is sure she can’t be older than 8 or 9 but she pushes her shoulders back in a way that makes her seem older. She clears her throat. “We’ve only got scratches and bruises. Nobody broke,” she informs him, confidently. Then her look turns fierce. “We’ve been down here yelling for help, but nobody heard us. Some kids started crying. Are you here to save us?” 

Peter smiles behind his mask. “I am.” 

She eyes him intensely for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I’ll help you. It’s my job, I—” she takes in a deep breath, ''I'm the line leader,” she says with all the conviction of a soldier in battle. 

Peter’s heart swells at her look of determination, flooded, suddenly, with appreciation for all of the incredible and brave people that have come forward to help in just the hour since everything happened. Police officers, firefighters, paramedics, random civilians that were close by, and now apparently this little girl. He swallows thickly and tries to focus on the task at hand. It’s going to be a bit harder than he’d thought for with child civilians. 

He drops to a crouch, bringing himself eye level with the little girl, and holds out his hand. “I’m Spidey,” he says in a friendly tone. “What’s your name?” 

“Penelope Fitzpatrick,” she responds. “But you can call me Penny,” she adds diplomatically. 

He smiles. “It’s nice to meet you Penny. Thank you for volunteering your service. I’m really grateful because I actually really need your help. It’s really important that we get up stairs and out of this building as soon as possible because it’s not doing a very good job of staying together,” he informs her, seriously. 

She nods her head, brows furrowed in focus. “How can I help?” she asks.

“You said you’re the line leader, right?” he asks. She nods. “I need you to get everyone into a line, single file, so that we can lead them up and out of the basement. Can you do that?” 

She doesn’t answer him, instead she turns around to face the rest of the kids who had all fallen silent as the two of them spoke. 

“Guys we all have to get up and get into our places in the line,” she starts in a clear voice. “Spider-man is gonna help us get out of here but we have to listen to him.” 

In an almost stunned quiet, the rest of the group raises at her words. They must be some sort of class, Peter thinks, perhaps a class of art camp students, because when they stand, they all move into previously assigned spaces in the line, filling the gaps that form between one student and another until all 21 of them are lined up. In a group like this, it’s hard not to get caught up in how young they all look, a feeling that isn’t helped by the expressions of fear that nearly all of them are wearing. Not Penny though. Penny looks proud and determined as she shifts her eyes to his from the front of the line, waiting for his instruction. 

Peter stands from his crouch and pulls himself to his most impressive height, which to any other audience, he’s sure is not that impressive, but for this one? He can see some of the faces gaze up at him in awe. He looks at them all in a way that is about 10x more confident than he currently feels. In the corner of his vision, the structural integrity reading of the building next to them drops into red text. His heart rate picks up. 

“Okay,” he says through a huff. “We’ve all got to be really fast, alright? We can’t stop to talk or look at anything, even if it’s really interesting or cool. We’ve all just gotta keep moving forward until we’re out on the street, and even then, we’ve gotta keep walking until we reach the line of police cars. Okay?” He looks at them all for confirmation. A smattering of tiny “okays” and nods meet him in reply. He swallows and takes a deep breath that his ribs don’t like. 

He looks a Penny and nods, walking backwards towards the stairs only long enough to see her first steps match his pace, and then he turns around. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs and stops abruptly. The thought occurs to him that he should probably stay here until the last of the children are on the steps so that he can make sure nobody gets left behind or distracted. 

He turns towards the kids. “Penny, I need you to lead them up to the top of the stairs and then stop there and wait for me, okay?” He tells her as she catches up to him. She nods in confirmation and begins the climb, class following dutifully behind her. When the last little kid, an especially small one with close cropped hair and glasses, passes by him with a little watery smile, he steps back into the toppled classroom to make sure it’s empty. 

Suddenly there is a loud and persistent beeping in his mask and the red numbers that measure the integrity of their neighboring structure enlarges. 

“Pete,” Karen’s seemingly ever calm voice is insistent in his ear. “It’s coming down, you need to brace for impact.” She warns. 

Peter’s eyes flick to the students lined on the stairs. “Everybody sit down where they’re standing right now,” he shouts, voice loud and commanding as he tries to move closer to them. 

The initial impact of the collapse washes over the smattering of buildings around it in a wave of destabilization. The read out of the entire block goes nuts in his viewfinders as he braces himself against the wall. Warnings flash through his vision in bright red as all 26 of the rest of the buildings drop in structural integrity. His building shakes like he imagines an earthquake would feel, except instead of coming from beneath them, the persistent rumblings are coming from above. The darkness of the room seems to increase and it takes him a second to realize it’s because rubble is falling outside the tiny windows that line the top of the basement wall. From where he’s standing, he can see through the doorway at the top of the stairs where pieces of the building are coming down in small bits and big chunks alike. He sends a silent prayer to a god he does not believe in, that the path from the basement to the street that he’d made with his webbing is still somewhat visible.

The shaking from outside stops before the shifting of rubble around them settles and for a horrible panicked moment, Peter thinks maybe the building isn't gonna make it, but slowly the wreckage around them slides to a stop and things are quiet. 

Well, outside of his mask, that is. The display from his viewfinders is still littered with alerts and flashing red letters and numbers that are telling him something he can't quite figure out. He stumbles upright again. 

“Mute alerts,” he mumbles out as he tries to right himself. 

And then, right when he feels stable enough to walk towards the line of kids squatting on the stairs, the entire sheetrock block of the ceiling in the basement falls heavily down, crumbling on its dissent. His spidey sense warns him one second too late. 

The first hit is bad but not dire. He dives out of the way as the blanket of rubble slams against the basement floor and shakes it from the ground up. Everything is chaos for a long couple of moments. Peter feels the bits of ceiling pin his lower body the ground where he lands in a heap on his already banged up left side. He only registers the pain as a far off feeling, senses too overwhelmed by the cacophony of crashes that are sounding around him. His display is a deluge of information that might as well be in a different language for as much as Peter can make out what it’s telling him. He thinks he must have hit his head against the floor when he landed because his vision is swimming and he’s not entirely sure how much of what he’s hearing is actually happening and how much is just echoing in his head. 

When it stops, he starts to come back to himself. 

_ This is not good, _ he thinks. He looks at the heavy sheetrock that’s piled in large bricks over his lower body. _ This is very not good. _

He swallows down the alarm that threatens to come up out of his throat like puke, or maybe it’s actual puke that he swallows down, he isn’t sure. He’s still not entirely sure what’s going on with his body. He knows he must be in incredible pain, but all he can register is the panic that’s been thrashing in his chest for the entire day. He’s grateful for it, at least in that moment, though, because it reminds him of what he’d been trying to do before this most recent setback happened. He looks up to the stairway where the kids are still sitting, one by one, each on their own step, all the way up to where Penny is sitting huddled against the wall in front of the entrance to the main level of the building. All of the terrified little heads are covered in the dust that fell from the drywall above them in the collapse of both the neighboring structure and the ceiling in their former classroom. A few seem to have toppled onto their neighbors in the shifting but, to Peter’s immediate relief, no one looks injured. 

“Is everyone—” he starts, but his voice is rough and gravely. He clears his throat and tries again. “Is everyone okay?” 

The kids, to their credit, all seem to look among themselves for a little bit before any one of them answers for the whole group. Only when they seem to mutually agree no one is hurt does he start to hear confirmation that they are, in fact, okay. 

He lets out a hard breath he didn't realize he was holding in. _ They’re okay. _ The kids are okay and he can still see the daylight shining in through the clearing above the stairs. They can still make it out of the building to safety. 

“Okay good.” He says, moving his attention back onto himself. Alright then, one last time, he has to take an inventory of his own injuries. He starts from the bottom this time, mind mercifully cooperating as he foces it to zero in on anything he could possibly be feeling in his lower half. His legs are pinned down by the heavy sheetrock on top of them, of that, he is absolutely certain. He’s also fairly certain that the bones in his right leg aren’t as whole as they once were, a suspicion he holds because, even though he can’t actually see it, he’s pretty sure he landed on it at an angle legs don’t normally bend. The numbness in his body feels like blurry pictures look. He can’t tell for sure that he’s also in incredible pain in his abdomen, chest, and upper limbs, but he thinks it’s safe to assume that he’s probably at least fucked up his broken rib and arm even more by slamming them into the ground like he did. 

He takes a breath and tries to see where that leaves him. He can’t lift himself up because he can’t really move out of his position under all the sheetrock. He can’t pull himself up using webs because he genuinely doesn’t trust a single support beam in this building to support his weight, and he’s not 100% sure _ he’d _ be able to support it with his list of injuries. He can’t ask for anyone’s help, there isn’t time for anyone to get down to him without putting themselves at unreasonable risk. There is nothing that can be done for him. This is as far as he’s going to get. 

The realization hits him like a train moving at a thousand miles and hour. He’s not making it out of here. He’s not getting out of this torn up basement where he’s pinned to the ground. He’s not going home after this. He’s gonna— he swallows down what he’s actually sure is puke this time— he’s gonna die down here. Either crushed by the weight of the building or from the blast of the second explosion he’s sure is still coming. He’s not sure which it’ll be but he knows that he won’t make it out of either one alive. 

And suddenly, he’s very very glad his body is in shock. He’s so incredibly thankful. Thankful in a way he’s never been before, in a way that he feels in the deepest part of his heart. He’s so thankful he could cry with the relief of it. He numbly realizes that he hasn’t properly appreciated how insane it is that he’s capable of rational thought at all in this moment. How insane it is that his body is virtually crushed and he can still form a thought in his brain. His eyes flutter shut as he takes a moment to just be grateful he can still do something, can still do what he’s always wanted to do, even now. 

“Karen are you still there?” He asks quietly. 

“I am,” she says statically. “But the suit is just about done for. Only 22% of the systems and power is remaining.” 

He nods. He’d figured the suit wouldn’t make it through. “I need you to give me one last spider drone with manual control. Then divert all the remaining power to yourself.” 

“Okay. Launching drone now. I’ll control at your request,” she responds. 

A small spider shaped drone forms from the extra nanites housed in his right web-shooter. He swallows weakly. “Penny?” He calls. He’ll need her help if he wants to get the kids out in time. 

From the top of the stairs he sees her pigtailed head whip towards him, eyes immediately boring into his mask. “Spidey?” She asks concerned, like this is maybe the first time she’s noticing his predicament. He watches apprehension cross over her features, though it’s hard to see in the dark. 

“Hey. Need you to come down here for a moment. Everyone else can stay where they are.” He tries to say evenly. 

It seems like even all the kids can tell something is terribly wrong. All of them turn to meet Penny’s nervous expression as she passes them on their individual steps. When she reaches the ground a few steps away from Peter she falters, eyeing him carefully. 

He makes the decision in an instant, knowing that it won’t matter. Not now. Not if he’s never leaving this room. He motions on his palm for the nanite casing that covers his head to retract back into his suit, uncovering his face. Penny’s eyes go wide with surprise, and the action seems to spur her movements. She takes another two tentative steps before crouching down. He smiles up at her, and he knows it must look sad on his face, but he can’t do anything to make it look different. He’s gonna have to entrust her with the undertaking of a lifetime and there’s nothing he can do to change that. 

“Hey.” He says in the most gentle voice he can muster. “You alright?”

Penny’s wide brown eyes are fixed on his face. She nods but doesn’t say anything. Peter doesn’t push for verbal confirmation, even though it’s his instinct to. He doesn't have time. He tries to clear the heaviness from his throat before speaking. 

“Penny, i’m gonna level with you. We’re in a pickle,” he says plainly. “I’m stuck here under all this and i’m not going to be able to lead you guys to the street anymore.” He gestures vaughly to the mess covering his legs before continuing. “That’s okay though because my friend Doney here is gonna help you get there.” He points to the flying spider drone that’s floating right near her head. Her eyes snap towards it. “But I’ll need your help. I still need you to be the line leader. I can’t be there to guide the way so I need someone I know can follow Droney’s directions to lead the rest of the kids.” He speaks evenly. 

Penny is silent for a couple seconds after he finishes and for a moment he thinks he’s asking too much of her, then he hears himself and says _ of course you’re asking too much of her _. But before that thought goes much further, her tiny, terrified voice sounds from in front of him. 

“But— but we can’t just leave you behind,” she says, and Peter’s heart is breaking because she sounds like she’s holding back tears. And of course that’s her first concern. Leaving him behind. Suddenly he finds that he’s fighting back his own. He can’t tell her to leave him to die. He knows, he’s not sure how he knows, but he knows that she’s smart enough to have figured out that’s what he’s asking. His heart aches but he looks at her right in the face and tries to be as honest as he can be. 

“I’m gonna be okay, Penny, I’m a superhero. Sometimes it’s our job to stay behind.” He smiles up at her watery eyes. “It’s like before, when you told me you had to help me because it’s your job. Cause you’re the line leader. Sometimes it’s just our job to do something, even if it’s not particularly fun. So I've gotta stay down here. But you guys have got to get up on the street and away from this block, okay?” 

Penny just looks at him and, with a tight squeeze on his heart, he can see that she knows what he’s asking her to do, even when he’s tried to put it to her poetically. He can see somewhere in her brave little face that she understands the sense of duty in her that he’s trying to appeal to. He can see the exact moment she decides to do it. She only lets one tear fall before swiping a quick hand over her face and taking a deep breath. It’s almost like she slides on a mask of determination so that one moment she’s a scared little girl in a basement and the next she’s the person who’s gonna lead her class to safety. Peter knows that in reality she is always going to be both, but he can’t help the moment of shining pride he feels for her as she makes the choice to be the latter. His mind is instantly brought back to Tony’s first piece of advice on being a superhero. _ “You just make the choice to be one and figure the rest out from there.” _

Penny nods at him and then stands up to her full height, shoulders set, and turns her attention to Droney. 

“You’re gonna show me where to go?” She asks it. 

Peter answers for the robotic spider. “I’m gonna tell it where to go. You just have to follow it.” 

She looks back down at him and nods again, this time in confirmation. She pauses, and for a second her fear washes over her expression. “What if something happens to him? Or if the building starts shaking again?” 

Peter sighs. It’s a valid question, one that he’d been trying to come up with an answer to since his plan to have the drone lead them out hatched. He doesn’t have one. So he just tells her the truth. “If something happens to Droney or the building feels like it might crumble, then you run towards daylight as quickly as you possibly can.” 

She gives him a look that says she’s sorry she asked and he can’t help but crack a smile. “You’re gonna do great, Penny. All you have to do is lead the class and follow Droney,” he reassures her. 

She nods once again, probably too overwhelmed to communicate with words, which he desperately understands. She turns her back on him briefly before seeming to remember something. Her eyes meet his one last time. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that you’re, like, 16,” she says seriously. 

Peter looks at her blankly for a moment, closes his eyes, and then opens them up again, shocked. His smile spreads over his face without his permission and then he’s barely holding back a full belly laugh. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate your discretion, Penny.” 

She gives him a little smile in reply and then turns to climb the stairs once again, Karen directing Droney to lead her way. When she reaches the top she turns to look at her shell-shocked classmates. 

“Guys, we have to go. Spider-Man is staying behind to take care of some things but we can’t stay any longer. He asked me to lead the way out to the street. So we’re gonna go now, I just need you all to follow me,” she says, and her little voice is as strong and confident as he’s ever heard anyone’s. 

He knows that he’s made the right call, that Penny was the right person to entrust with this task, because as soon as she announces the new plan, the class of students stands, once again to their feet, somehow even smaller this time, all covered in bits of plaster and dust. They shift awkwardly on their steps as Penny waits for them all to be ready to walk. Then she turns towards the doorway. 

Peter’s mask climbs over his face once again, Droney’s camera feed in the corner of his vision. His view of the front few rooms of the building is a mess of rubble. Sunlight is pouring through cracks in the ceiling and a giant gap in the wall about 200 feet from the door to the basement, the one he’d climbed in through. He pans the camera towards the ground to look for his web tracks. It takes him a moment but eventually he finds the corner of one about 10 feet out from where the camera hovers and directs it towards the marking. Penny and the rest of the kids follow behind it. The building stays put. 

Beyond the first marking, Peter isn’t able to see any sign that he’d previously walked through the rooms in the front of the building, the mix of rubble and dust covering his tracks. So he wings it. He’s not there to let his instinct guide him, so he just picks a route that looks as safe as any and forces Droney to hover down it at a slow pace, checking every thirty seconds or so to make sure Penny is still close behind it. One by one, Peter watches as the kids climb the stairs left in front of them to leave the basement, and himself behind. 

At about 100 feet away from the wall is when the first rumbling of the building happens. Peter forces Droney to freeze in mid air and says a silent prayer that Penny is watching closely enough that she does too. He tenses from his place on the basement floor for a full thirty seconds as a bit of rubble shits somewhere above him. Droney’s camera scans around just in time to see a far corner of the ceiling upstairs fall to the ground. Everything else stays still. After what he judges to be a reasonable amount of caution, he pushes Droney forward towards the street, only to then be met with more rumbling. He quickens the robotic spider’s pace, trying desperately to reach the street before anything catastrophic can happen to the line of children following behind it. When he turns the camera, he can see that they’ve matched his speed, climbing over and around pieces of wall and broken furniture with the agility of the school aged children they all are. 

At 10 feet from the gap in the wall, he feels the building start to shake in earnest again, perhaps caused by the pitter-patter of the 42 little feet trudging through it’s front room, he isn’t sure, but he is sure that they’re close enough to the street now that having them stop to wait for it to die down is no longer the smartest move. He whips Droney to the doorway the gap provides and hopes that Penny’s understands that he wants her to lead her classmates at a run through it and out onto the street. When he pans behind him, he sees that she’s done just that. Penny and the three students closest to her flash by his robotic eyes in an attempt to get to the firm ground of the street. 

He watches through Droney’s camera with his breath held, counting each child in his head as they pass. _ Seven, eight, nine. _ The building is shaking even harder against the pressure of all the running, but he knows without a doubt that it’s the right move to have them make a run for it as a giant chunk of plaster falls right at the doorway to the stairs where Penny had been standing for so long. _ Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. _ He wishes that he could be with them running out, not so he could be saved but so that he could just grab the rest of them and run. He could go so much faster than their tiny legs could ever carry them. _ Nineteen, twenty, twenty one. _

Just like that Peter pans the camera’s view to make sure that they’re all safely on the street only to see that Penny never stopped running. She’s still leading the line of anxious children to the Police cars Peter'd mentioned when they first formed their plan, not stopping for the several emergency responders that try to intercept her. Only when she reaches the police does she stop. Peter finally exhales and slumps down onto the ground, the last bit of his energy fully zapped from him. 

“Karen, kill the drone feed.” He says through another heavy breath. It shuts off. 

For a while he just lies there. The building keeps shifting, he hears some parts of the upstairs area get rearranged for awhile, and then eventually, it settles to another stop. The room around him is quiet and almost completely dark now that some sort of rubble is blocking the doorway. He closes his eyes against it. Distantly he registers that the doorway being blocked is confirmation that this is it for him, but it doesn’t hit like it probably should. 

“I’m gonna die down here.” He says to absolutely no one but himself. He thinks maybe if he says it out loud it’ll feel more real. It doesn’t. 

Karen responds anyway. “That is the most likely scenario, unfortunately.” Her voice is remorseful. 

A small smile appears on his lips at her honesty. He’s glad he’s not alone. 

Her voice speaks again. “The good news is: I don’t believe you will have to feel it happen. Do to several injuries, your blood pressure is nearing a dangerously low level. You will likely pass out before any life threatening event takes place.” She informs him with a hopeful edge to her tone.

_ Huh. That must be why I feel so dizzy, _he thinks to himself from where his head is tipped onto the ground. There’s a soft sort of glow to all of his thoughts as they swim through his head. Vaguely he registers the thought that whatever happens to him when he dies, at least he’ll get to see his parents and Ben again. There’s a twist of something that he hasn’t thought about in a long time. A sort of curiosity at what it might be like after he leaves this world. Then he thinks about all the people that he’s leaving behind. All of the hurt and heartbreak he knows his death will cause them. It's like he can almost feel their sorrow from here. All of the people he loves, broken at the loss of him, like he’s been broken so many times. Immediately his brain counters the thought with the good things. He sees a flash of all of the biggest moments of his life. All the things he’s grateful to have been able to experience.

For a moment he’s 12 years old with May driving in her old beat up car, coming back from a trip to visit her friend in Pennsylvania, belting out the lyrics to Wannabe by The Spice Girls. Then he’s 14 and curled in her arms at Ben’s funeral, crying as his uncle is lowered into the ground but safer than he’s ever felt against the warmth of May’s embrace. He’s 9 and building his very first Star Wars lego model with Ned from under the blanket fort they've built in his bedroom during his very first sleepover. He’s 14 and climbing up the side of a skyscraper for the first time in his life. Next he’s 15 in Tony’s lab, dancing as queen blasts from a state-of-the-art sound system and they try to run repairs on the Mark 53. Suddenly it’s springtime again and he’s in Pepper’s office at SI eating pizza with her as they talk about the latest season of The Bachelor during her lunch break. He’s in training sessions with Captain America and The Black Widow and their complimenting his technique. 

When his brain finally lands on MJ, it feeds him every last one of his favorite memories of her. The way she’d first come to his defense during AcaDec practice when Flash was being a dick to him. The look of fury on her face when she argued with their english teacher about the use of they/them pronouns to describe a singular person, literally ready to get expelled for the benefit of a classmate she’d only ever spoken to once. The softness in her eyes when they’d talked about Ben and his parent’s deaths for the first time. The beauty of the ink-pen drawing she’d made for him last Christmas. Her blazing radiance in that velvet suit at Tony and Pepper’s wedding. The way her skin felt smoothsmoothsmooth against his rough hand as she lead him in a dance. The way her eyes felt looking into his own when he wanted to kiss her, warm and earnest and safe. 

He groans out loud, mind getting groggier by the second. “I should have kissed her, Karen.” He mumbles out. “She was right there in my arms and I could have done it and I just...didn’t. I had all these reasons that it would be a bad idea, all these bullshit excuses to keep it to myself because I was too afraid she’d say no. I never even gave her the chance to decide. And now I'll never be able to.” His voice breaks. “She’ll never know how much I love her.” 

There’s a long silence and Peter starts to fade, but before he can, he just makes out the soft reassurance of Karen’s robotic voice.

“They all know you love them, Pete.” 

He breathes out heavily, his life playing through his mind like a rerun of an old sitcom on TV Land. And then eventually, just like old TV shows always do, everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my best chapter and my hardest one. I'm sorry for what I've put you through, but I did warn you all shit was a coming. I hope you liked it as much as I do. Please tell me if you did. 
> 
> Love you guys. Don't forget to practice self care this week.


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Some news:
> 
> 1.) I am very excited to be rounding the last few chapters of this story! I have some details I want to add and for that reason I have upped the chapter count from 13 to 14.  
2.) I have decided to take this full week before Thanksgiving to focus on friends, family and self care! For that reason, I won’t be posting chapter 13 until December 7th.  
3.) As a massive thank you and to tide you over, this chapter is 11k! 
> 
> I hope you like it. 
> 
> Love y'all, take care of yourselves!

**XII.**

**June 23rd. **

  
  


_ Beep.  _

_ Beep.  _

_ Beep.  _

For the first few minutes he’s awake, Peter can’t make out anything that’s going on around him. There are noises, lots of them, and they’re all bleeding together into something that sounds like an orchestra tuning their instruments before a concert. Nothing about the sound is discernible, and he’s not 100% sure he’d be able to tell if it were some sort of tune, it just sounds like a mass of vibrations in his head. The only thing that he’s sure he knows is the tone that rhythmically beats, every second, in perfect time. For a while, he slips in and out of consciousness. He supposes that’s what is happening because everytime he comes back to himself, the noises around him are different. He’s not sure how, but he can feel that time is passing, it’s like he can sense it going by. 

After dosing and coming back about half a dozen times, the noises around him have faded. There’s still the soft sounds of the tone, but the rest of everything seems to have died down into a dull murmuring he can’t make out. Peter tries to still himself and open his eyes, but his head feels so heavy on his pillow that he can’t seem to force them up. 

_ Pillow,  _ he thinks.  _ Pillow…  _

His brain makes a billion connections at once, moving from one to another and another until he can’t do anything but run through everything it’s telling him in long, horrific detail. His senses get to his brain before anything else. The realization that his head is on a pillow spurring on the barrage of input that had previously been blissfully muted by his unconscious state. Suddenly he can feel everything, the softness of the mattress he’s on, the rough feel of the sheets he’s under, the paper thin fabric of the gown he’s in, metal snaps cold against his shoulder. He can smell it all too, antiseptic and metal and lavender and vanilla all mixing together into one oddly familiar scent. Behind the mask of his eyelids, the dull light of the room he’s lying in blankets over him in something that seems to casts shadows rather than light. His mouth tastes like cotton. 

Before he even really has the chance to consider his conclusion that he must be in a hospital, his brain feeds him the sum total of his most recent memories, starting with the explosion and then playing back like a movie right until the moment that he passed— well, he’d thought he’d passed away, but if his hospital theory is correct— maybe not. Unless he’s in a morg or something, and this is the first part of the afterlife, waiting patiently for entry into the otherside from the slab you’re put on. It would explain why they’ve got him on what have to be, at the very most, 100 thread-count sheets, but somehow, he figures not. Partly because he doesn’t suppose he’d feel this  _ tired _ in the afterlife, and partly because, now that his brain is sort of functional, he’s pretty sure the beeping he’s hearing is his heart monitor. 

Actually, he’s pretty sure he’s hearing a lot of heart monitors at the moment. Like, at least 10 different heart monitors all at once, so there’s a strong likelihood that he might be over hearing what’s going on in neighboring rooms. That makes sense to him, he’s probably all out of whack and drugged, which would explain why he can’t open his eyes or lift his head. He’s so tired, too. He can feel another wave of whatever they’ve given him pulling at the edges of his brain, and he wants to let it take him back under, but he’s worried he won’t remember any of this when he wakes up, and he doesn’t want to have to keep figuring it out. 

He fights against his fatigue for a full couple of minutes before he finally manages to crack an eye open, immediately closing it back against the intensity of the light. He attempts to shift his body but he’s not very successful. Whatever drug they’ve cooked up seems to have rendered even his superhuman biology complacent to it’s sluggish demands, because he can’t really feel much of what his body is doing. What he can feel, is the weight of something pretty solid against the edge of his leg. He forces himself to focus, trying to make out anything else the room can tell him. All of the same sensory information as before is fed back to him, but this time, he can also sense something else. Someone else. 

He swallows around the dryness of his throat, his tongue sandpapery as it moves in his mouth. “Tony?” His voice is rough and airy, a whisper that couldn’t really be heard unless someone was waiting to hear it. The weight against Peter’s foot stays resolutely still, and as he listens carefully, he can hear the rhythmic breathing that suggests his company is asleep. “Tony,” he tries again, this time adding as much volume as he can manage. He still feels like he could fade off at any moment, but he’s dedicated to fighting it off.

The effect of his raised voice, quiet though it still is, is instantaneous. The weight against his leg is gone and the sounds of shifting fabric fill the room for one moment. 

“Pete?” Tony’s voice is careful and quiet, still heavy with sleep. Peter lets out a celebratory breath through his nose and tries to pull his mouth into something that reflects his excitement at his success, but he’s pretty sure it only twitches. 

“Can I ’ve water?” He asks, voice barely there. 

Tony lets out a loud breath and then it’s quiet for a couple seconds. “Of course, kiddo,” he says, voice watery. “Have some right here.” 

Peter hears Tony grab something from beside him and then move closer towards where his head is resting. As soon as he feels the straw against his lip, he closes around it and, using more energy than he ever used to drink anything in his entire life, takes a couple sips. It is the most delicious thing he’s ever consumed. He imagines the insides of his body look like a dry sponge flowering at it’s first drop of moisture, and he’s tempted to drink the whole thing, but it’s so difficult and he’s so drowsy that he decides against it. As if reading his mind, Tony pulls the water away. 

Peter takes a laborious breath again and then speaks. “Can you ‘rn off the ‘ights,” he slurs out. 

There’s more shuffling in the room, Tony moving to the light switch, he’s guessing, and then the room gets considerably darker. “Is that better?” Tony’s concerned voice asks. Peter nods but then remembers that Tony probably can’t see him. 

“Yes,” he manages, lowly. 

With the lights down lower, he risks peaking his eye open once again and finds that the brightness he’d been zapped with before is considerably less intense as he blinks against the darkness of the room. He can tell right away that he’s seeing more than any other person would be able to. The room itself is dark, but to him it just looks like it’s covered in shadow, the way dark places always look when his enhanced sight is being employed. Directly in front of his face he can see the stand to his heart monitor and the connected wires that lead under his sheets and into the wall respectively. He swallows and shifts his gaze, shaking some of his tiredness away. Tony moves back into view, carefully and quietly coming to sit back down in his seat at Peter’s bedside before looking back down at his face, his emotions barely contained on his own. He reaches up and lays a hand softly on the side of Peter’s face. 

“Hey kid,” Tony says gingerly. He swipes his thumb over Peter’s temple soothingly and the tenderness of the gesture digs at Peter’s conscience. The softness of the moment is so diametrically different than the circumstances that have landed him here, it’s hard for his brain to really catch up. Suddenly he feels overcome with the horribleness of the situation. He’d just been trying to stay awake before, just been trying to figure out where he was. Now, looking at Tony, he’s starting to feel the weight of the scene he’s in. He was in an explosion, people died, he thought  _ he _ was going to die. What happened to him? How long has he been in the hospital? What’s going on? Panic and fatigue start warring in his head and the combination feels like a horrible lump in his throat. 

“Tony?” His voice cracks as he speaks, tears threatening to spill over. His mind supplies him with the carnage of the scene he was in, bodies lying still on crumbled pavement, heat signatures trapped in buildings, flashing warnings in his viewfinders, the pigtail puffs of a little girl running towards police officers. All of the questions he has swirl around in his head, overwhelming him even further. A tear starts falling down his cheek. “W-what’s going on?” 

“Hey hey,” Tony rushes to calm him, thumb coming to swipe over the tear as it rolls down his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Pete. You’re safe.” 

Peter starts crying in earnest, not entirely sure that’s all true. “What happened to everybody? I— the kids got out of the building but there were still others and I was trapped and—”

The words make Tony’s calm demeanor falter for a moment, eyes watering a bit as he cuts Peter off. “Everybody is okay, Peter. Everyone was clear of the block before the second explosion happened and the only casualties were from the first one. You were the only one from the rescue effort that was seriously hurt. You saved a lot of lives, kid.” 

Peter’s tears don’t slow down at the news, confusion adding to the panic and fatigue. “But how am I alive? I thought I was dying. Karen told me I was gonna die. I—” 

“Pete, it’s okay,” Tony cuts him off again, this time sliding off the chair to crouch beside him so that they’re eye level. “I got you out before the second explosion. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you, but you’re gonna be okay.” His hand is firm against Peter’s face, thumb still rubbing gently over his temple to calm him. 

“But—” Peter sucks in a breath and then grimaces at the pain that blossoms in his chest. He shakes his head at Tony. “How did you get to N-new York so fast? Y-you were in L-LA?” 

“I don’t know, bud. I really don’t. I—” Tony scrubs a hand over his tired face. “I heard the explosion and then the line went dead and Friday said she couldn’t get you back so I just...told her to put everything into the thrusters and I got from LA to Elmshurst in a little over two hours.” 

Peter chokes on a sob and tries to calm himself down but the more he hears about it all, the worse he feels. He’s struck with the thought that Tony could have died trying to rescue him and another sob get’s suck in his thraot. “You could have— oh god you could have died.” His mind is moving at a thousand miles a minute again, going over every decision he can remember making during the incident, trying to figure out where he could have made a better call. “I— Tony I tried so hard. I kept thinking about what you told me and—” Peter’s tears are thick and heavy as they slide down his face and seep into the pillowcase beneath him. “There were so many people stuck and I kept seeing dead bodies everywhere I turned. Even with the responders I didn’t think there would be enough of us to get everyone clear in time. So I called in the Legion.” He looks at Tony in the face, seeing nothing but blurred pieces of the man behind the kaleidoscope of his own tears. “But I think their steps made the buildings less stable.” He swallows thickly. “It’s my fault I-I made the wrong call.” 

“Kid,” Tony starts, wiping Peter’s tears away and getting closer. “You gotta listen to me, okay? You did not make the wrong call. You saved lives out there. A lot of them. You got caught up in a fucking terrorist attack, dusted yourself off, and then immediately went to work doing everything you could to save the people around you. You are a hero.” 

Peter hiccups. “But—” 

“No buts,” Tony says, voice stern but still somehow gentle. “I’m so proud of you, Pete. You were in an impossible situation and you found a way to save everyone else before it got worse. All the calls you made were right. You were right, okay?” 

Peter stares at him for a few seconds, trying to process everything that he’s saying. It feels like everything that he’s been through since he woke up to go study with Ned and MJ is still happening to him, all at once. The weight of Tony’s hand on his face grounds him to the moment he’s currently in and, even with the haze of panic he’s seeing through, the calm sureness of Tony’s voice is familiar and safe enough that it’s hard not to believe what he’s hearing. He swallows as much of his disconsersion down as he can and gives the man in front of him a shaky nod. 

“Okay.” Tony brushes Peter’s hair out of his face and smiles softly. “I need you to take a deep breath for me.” He takes an exaggerated breath in example and Peter tries to mimic it. His first few attempts are pretty shaky but after a while his sobs start to die out. He can feel his tears half dried against his face and in any other situation, he’d be starting to feel embarrassed as he rounds the other side of a panic attack like this, but he can’t find it in himself to feel anything except for exhaustion and concern. When he has himself somewhat collected, he gives Tony a serious look. 

“You shouldn’t have gone down to save me. You could have died, Tony,” Peter tries to argue but there’s no real fight left in him. 

Tony snorts. “Peter. There is no universe in which I don’t go to save you. I don’t care what it costs me. You’re worth more to me than anything. Even my life. If you don’t know that by now, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Peter swallows heavily at the words, chest tight with the strain of his heavy breaths and the intensity of his emotions. He sniffles and closes his eyes to keep the tears from spilling over again. For just one moment, he tries to imagine what would happen if the situation were reversed and Tony was the one trapped in that basement. It’s not even a question. He’d do anything he had to to get him out. He tips his head back against the pillow and lets out a long suffering sigh, trying to channel all of the anxiety, frustration, and discomfort he’s feeling into it so he can let it all go. Tony’s hand falls back down to his side, but he stays where he’s crouching next to Peter’s bed. 

“Okay.” Peter takes another big breath that puffs up his cheeks and then lets it go again. “I—” He turns to look at Tony again and does nothing to hide the heavy exhaustion that’s pulling at him. “I want details about the attack and—” he looks down at himself briefly before returning his gaze to Tony’s face. “What happened to me, uh, physically.” He swallows thickly. “But I’m not very confident that it won’t lead to another panic attack, so can I have whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of a shitton of ativan is and get back to you after I sleep for a couple years?”

Tony smiles weakly and nods. “You’re already on lorazepam but—” He turns his head to look at a whiteboard across the room. “You’re due for another dose so I’ll have the nurse come in and give you some.” He reaches up and gives Peter’s forehead a couple more stokes with his thumb that are so overwhelmingly paternal that Peter has to chew on his lip to keep from crying. Tony fixes him with a concerned expression. “Are you gonna be okay by yourself for a few minutes?” Peter looks at him with big eyes and nods his head and he really thinks he means it, until the weight of Tony’s hand is gone and he’s turning to walk out of the room and then panic surges up in him again. He is struck by the sudden fear that if Tony leaves, something could happen to him while Tony’s gone and then he really will never get the chance to tell him or any of the rest of his family that he loves them. 

He reaches up quickly with mobility he has not been capable of until that moment and grabs Tony’s hand to keep him from leaving. Tony turns around at the touch, looking at Peter’s grip and then up at his face, worry etched into every line on his own. “What’s wrong, bud?” 

Peter looks up at him still chewing nervously at his lip, feeling a little stupid under the weight of Tony’s concern. He tries to think of a way to explain himself but he keeps coming up short. “Uh,” he stalls for a second breathing heavily, “I just wanted to say—” He shakes himself, trying to remember that this is not the first time he’s told Tony that he loves him. “I thought I was gonna die down there,” he blurts out, keeping his eyes on Tony’s. “And that I was leaving you and everyone else behind like my parents and Ben left me.” He frowns without realizing it, his lips pulling down tightly at the memory. “I just wanted to say— in case anything ever happens to me again and you can’t save me— I love you a lot, Tony,” Peter finishes in a sort of nervous rush. 

Immediately, Tony entire face changes, worry melting into something else, something more akin to sympathy. He sits carefully in his chair again, pulling it further up the side of Peter’s bed, bringing his unoccupied hand back up to Peter’s head to continue his soft calming stokes. It’s a long, quiet moment before he speaks again. “Do you remember when you threw yourself in front of that bus with the faulty brakes a couple years ago?” Tony looks at Peter expectantly and he nods his head in response. “You showed up here all bruised and broken and absolutely miffed that May, Pep, and I wanted you to be more careful. We tried to lecture you and you were all eyerolls and annoyed huffs until finally you put us all in the group chat and told us to coordinate the lectures. You sent the three of us that long text about duty and doing the right thing even if it’s dangerous, and about how even though we’re scared because we love you all the people you saved had people that loved them too. You remember that too?” 

Peter raises his eyebrows and looks off to the side in a surprised expression. “Yeah that was...pretty ballsy of me, wasn’t it?” 

“Oh yeah, bud. 15 was an interesting time to parent you.” Tony agrees with a chuckle. “Anyway, you sent the message and of course you were right and of course you’d said almost the exact same thing I tell Pep everytime I take a nuke through a wormhole or try to save the world from killer robots.” Tony rolls his eyes and purses his lips. “I was stuck. I wanted to wrap you up in bubble wrap and never let you leave the house again, but at the same time, I knew that a) it wouldn’t stop you from being Spider-Man, and b) you were right to do what you did. It was the exact moment I realized that you were my kid and that my life was altogether more wonderful and more terrifying because of it.” He takes a big breath and looks at Peter fondly again. “Point is, I have spent every day since then in a state of constant fear. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt Spider-Manning, I’m afraid you’ll get overwhelmed by all the responsibility you’ve taken on, I’m afraid you’re gonna be a victim of homophobia and biphobia, but Peter, I have never, not since the day I met you, been afraid that you don’t love me. And in case I don’t say it enough, I love you too, bud. More than you could ever know.” 

Peter looks up at him for a good couple of seconds, trying to verbalize the relief he’s feeling at being understood, but words are escaping him. He closes his eyes and feels the soft brushes of Tony’s thumb against his head and just nods in response. “Good,” he finally chokes out, squeezing where he’s still got a hold of Tony’s hand. “I just had to be sure.” 

Tony squeezes back. “I know, kid. I’ve been there.” He lets Peter sit there for a couple minutes, eyes closed and breathing even before he leans forward and calls the nurse into the room via the button on the bed. Peter can hear everything happening around him as the nurse comes in and Tony explains the situation quietly, so as not to wake him. He’s not asleep yet, but he doesn’t make any effort to tell either of them. He doesn’t have anything else to say and the tiredness that he’d been battling since he first realized where he was, is finally winning out. He stays conscious only for the injection of the medicine and the big weighted blanket of it that sits heavy on top of him for a few minutes after it takes its effect, and then he’s out. 

**June 23rd, 6:03 am.**

When Peter next opens his eyes, it’s considerably easier to exist. The room he’s in is still dark like it had been when the nurse put him under and it takes him a full minute to remember that he’d asked Tony to make it this way when he’d woken up before. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and looks around the bed expectantly for the remote he knows gives him control of it. When he finds it, half tucked underneath his pillow, he pushes firmly on the up arrow by the illustration of the top half of the bed. Immediately, he starts to sit up. It takes only a second of the slow movement for him to feel the aches and pains all throughout his body, wincing slightly at their sting but not stopping his snail-paced assent to upright lest he need to start the process again. When the bed stops and he’s able to see the whole room without lifting his head, he does a quick scan of his surroundings. Nobody is in there with him anymore.

There’s a split moment of panic that the scene he’s picturing in his head of Tony crouched by his bedside, calming him after an anxiety attack, was entirely fabricated, but it passes as quickly as it had come when the door in front of him swings open. Tony and Bruce walk in together, smiling once they see Peter in his upright and distinctly conscious position. 

“You’re up!” Tony says brightly, crossing into the room to get out of Bruce’s way. “I thought we’d have to wake you.”

“Guess you’re in luck. I just woke up,” Peter says, voice still sleepy. 

Tony sits down in his bedside chair, legs crossing as he clutches his coffee cup firmly in one hand and smiles. “Good,” he nods in Bruce’s direction. “Brought you a present.” Peter shifts his attention to Bruce, following Tony’s gaze. 

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” Bruce greets, walking to the side of the bed Tony isn’t on.

“Hey, man.” Peter gives him a little tight lipped smile. “Like hell, how about you?” 

Bruce chuckles. “Well, less good now that I know you’re not doing so hot. You feel up to a quick catch up?” 

Peter looks from Tony and then back to Bruce, brows furrowing. “Are you my doctor?” 

Bruce returns Peter’s previous tight lipped smile and nods his head. “I’m afraid so. Tony called me in because I have more experience with your particular body chemistry than any of the doctors on staff.” He pulls over a small wheely stool that Peter hadn’t noticed before and sits down on it. “Are you good to talk for a little bit?” He asks again. 

Peter’s frown deepens but he shakes his head in the affirmative. “Uh, sorry but, can I get something for the pain before we do?” 

“Of course,” Bruce says, reaching up to grab at a button hanging from Peter’s I.V. pole and pressing it before handing it over to Peter, who takes it gladly. “If you feel the pain coming back go ahead and press this again. We’re not sure how long the dose we’re giving works on you, so.” He gives Peter an apologetic look. “We’re going with trial and error at the moment.” 

“Oh wow,” Peter says as he feels the drug release into his bloodstream, washing over the pain. His eyes flutter closed for a second at the relief. “That’s...very good.” Tony snorts into his coffee cup beside him. 

“I’m glad it’s helping,” Bruce says, kindly. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, okay?” 

Peter nods. “I will. You said something about catching me up?” He prompts. 

“Right,” Bruce starts, straightening his glasses. Peter suddenly realizes that it’s still dark in his room and it must be kinda hard for other people to see in it. He presses the light bulb icon on his remote and the light flickers on to it’s softest setting. He leaves it like that and looks back at Bruce expectantly. “Oh, that’s better. Thank you.” He smiles. “Okay, I wanted to touch base with you this morning and catch you up on what’s been going on with you physically since the attack. I’m not sure how much Tony told you when you woke up earlier, but aside from that brief time, you’ve been either sleeping or unconscious for about 40 hours.” 

Peter gapes at him, turns to look at Tony and then brings his attention back to Bruce. “I’ve been out for almost two days?” He says, mouth still open in shock. He forces it closed, trying to process that information. He’d passed out from Spider-Man related incidents before, but never for more than a couple minutes. He’s not entirely sure he wants to hear why he was out for so long. 

Bruce nods sagely and gives Peter a couple moments to process before clearing his throat to continue. “When Tony brought you in, you were in bad shape. You had two radial fractures in your left arm, 4 broken ribs, a broken talus on your right side, a completely shattered fibula on your left, a pretty intense concussion and a severe loss of blood.” He flashes Peter another apologetic look. “That’s bad enough on it’s own, but your healing factor made treatment even more complicated. When we got you into an x-ray it became clear to us that our initial assessment of your injuries was incorrect. I could only guess— and now that you’re awake perhaps you can confirm this theory— but I guessed that after the initial explosion you came to and you’d already broken your arm and a couple ribs. And instead of giving them time to heal, you dove into the rescue effort and ended up getting the rest of your injuries.” 

Peter bites his lip, guilt bubbling up inside him. He nods. “Yeah. You guessed correctly. I—” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Karen told me that they wouldn’t heal correctly but I never had any intention of not trying to help.” He lets out a sigh, disappointed in his own pigheadedness. “Did I fuck myself over?” 

Bruce gives him a sympathetic look. “Well that’s not exactly how I would have worded it but...yeah.” He purses his lips for a moment and nods towards Peter’s resigned grimace. “Basically what happened is: your healing factor started working as soon as you got injured but you didn’t stop using your injured arm or ribs, and because of that they kept healing incorrectly, rebreaking, healing incorrectly, rebreaking and so on until you were finally still. By the time we got to you, there was so much scar tissue around your radius and ribs, and they’d set so incorrectly, that the surgeon had no choice but to break them again during surgery so that they would heal correctly this time. The same is true for your other breaks, though those were easier to correct because they’d only healed incorrectly once. All of this was a huge and complicated process, as you can imagine. There were several doctors all working in tandem to make sure everything went smoothly.” Bruce pauses again, looking at Peter for confirmation that he’s following and even though Peter feels like his head is starting to spin, he nods for him to go on. 

“I’m not sure if you’ve already thought about this or not, but surgery is really difficult to perform on you. For one, finding an anesthetic that is strong enough to keep you out or safe enough to keep redosing you with would have been impossible at any other medical facility. Thankfully because of Steve and Bucky and actually me as well, we had a lot of very potent super hero-grade medicines to work off of and were able to put together an anesthetic pretty quickly. Another challenge we knew we needed to address before getting you on the operating table was slowing down your healing altogether. We couldn’t cut you open and operate on your bones if the incisions were going to fully heal every 20 minutes. So we had to put you on a couple medications that, together, work to slow down your rate of healing. Not completely, but just enough that we were able to get in there and do what we needed to do. We still have you on those medications now, because the orthopedic surgeon, who you’ll meet a little later on in the morning, wants you to stay on them for a couple of weeks while doing some physical therapy.”

The information pouring out of Bruce’s mouth feels a little bit like a slap in the face to his freshly awake mind. He listens as carefully as he can, tries to tuck away the details and make a mental note of questions he has as they come up, but it all starts to feel too hard to keep track of after a while. At the mention of physical therapy Peter’s attention sharpens and Bruce notices, pausing yet again to give Peter the floor. 

“I’m gonna need physical therapy?” He asks, trying desperately to wrap his brain around the thought. He’d heard his list of injuries and he’d known that it was bad, but the prospect of taking weeks to heal is completely foreign to him. He wonders in the back of his head when he’d gotten so used to his heightened abilities. If he were a normal person, it would likely take several months if not years of physical therapy to get back to regular mobility after sustaining the injuries he’s sustained. The thought should be comforting but for some reason he can’t quite identity, it isn’t. 

Bruce nods, soberly. “Yeah, Pete. Probably a good couple of weeks of it, at least. Your surgeon will give you all of the specifics on why, how, who and all the rest of the details, but for now, let me just say this: you want to do physical therapy after an incident like this. You  _ want _ to ease back into building a relationship with your body after it’s gone through the trauma it has. It isn’t the same body you had a couple of days ago, and relearning it will be so much easier when it’s guided by a professional with experience walking through that process. I know the idea has to be a bit annoying for someone who’s very fortunately been able to dust himself off and go again after injuries in the past, but trust us on this one. You really want to take this slow.” 

Peter considers it for a second before nodding in response. “I feel like such a dick for taking the super healing for granted before this,” he admits aloud, looking at the two other men in the room. 

“You didn’t take it for granted, you used it to protect your community, Peter,” Bruce corrects him, smiling gently. “So don’t feel like a dick. Just...be gracious about not having it for the next little while. You’ll thank yourself later.” 

Peter inhales deeply and then lets it all out in a huff. “Yeah, I guess so.” He frowns and purses his lips, looking pitifully at Tony who just shakes his head tiredly before turning back to Bruce. “Is there more?” 

“I’m afraid so.” Bruce nods in confirmation, shifting on his stool. “So as I was saying before, a team of doctors did several simultaneous operations on you over the course of about 15 hours, which sounds scary but is actually very good because it means that we were able to address all of the injuries at once and you won’t have to have any more surgeries. The operations were successful and your arms and ribs are well on their way to being healed. Your legs were, like I said before, a bit more damaged, but the physical therapy will help there. The other things to focus on right now are observation and testing.” Bruce rolls backwards a bit to get to the end of Peter’s bed where he pulls a clipboard out of seemingly nowhere and flips to the second page.

“Right now you’re on ten different medications, all of which are being administered in high doses because of your body chemistry. Three of them are being used to keep your healing rate lower, which we want to keep an eye on because we’re not 100% sure you won’t build a tolerance to them and start healing anyway. We’re giving you a combination of Percocet, Tramadol, and Tylenol for the pain, which isn't unusual for somebody who’s just waking up from orthopedic surgery, but May said you typically get pretty anxious and nauseous when you’re on strong painkillers so we also put you on Zofran and Ativan to curb those side effects. Other than that, it’s just some calcium and vitamin D to help with bone strength for obvious reasons.” 

Bruce looks back up at Peter from the chart with raised eyebrows. “I’ll be honest, you’re a test subject, Peter. I’ve consulted with the rest of your medical team and none of us are sure how your body will react to the combination of medication that we’ve given you. We’re gonna do our best to make sure that your quality of care is top notch, but to do that, we are going to have to keep monitoring you closely. That means you will have to stay in the hospital for at least the next month. It’s the only way to ensure your safety.” He rolls back to the bottom of the bed and puts Peter’s chart back, glancing at Tony as if to say, “that's your cue.” Peter follows his gaze. 

Tony looks at Peter for a long moment as he takes a sip of his coffee and then he speaks. “I promise you we can argue about it all when everybody else wakes up, okay? For now let’s just finish getting you caught up.” Peter doesn’t respond, just glares tiredly at Tony before looking back over to Bruce.

“What else?” he says, not entirely kindly, and he feels a little bit sorry for that but not enough to say anything.

“I’m just about done with my portion of the rundown. Like I said before, the orthopedic surgeon will be stopping by later on in the morning to talk and she’ll have a lot more to say about the specifics of your next few weeks. I’m in charge of your care plan and I consult with all of the other physicians you’re seeing to make sure that their treatments aren’t interfering with each other or with your spider powers so, obviously, if you have any questions, feel free to contact me and I'll do my best to answer them, okay?”

Peter nods and then gives Bruce a friendly smile. It’s not like it’s his fault that Peter’s gonna be cooped up in a hospital room for a month. “Thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate you doing this. I know it’s not really what you do any more.” 

Bruce smiles back at him, standing up again and kicking the stool back over to the side. “It’s not, but I don’t mind at all.” He walks over to the sink at the side of the room and starts washing his hands, face still turned towards the bed. “I’d do it anytime.” When his hands are dry, he makes his way to the door and then turns to look at Tony again. “I’ll be back a little later on in the day, but if anything happens, give me a call, okay? I’ve got Friday putting all calls through even if I'm asleep.” 

Tony nods, giving Bruce a grateful expression. “Thanks, man, I will.” Bruce smiles again and then disappears into the hallway. 

Tony turns back to Peter. “So. How are you feeling after all that information?” he asks, shifting in his seat. 

“Um…” Peter swallows thickly and really considers it. The information Bruce had laid out for him was not all that unexpected, when he stops to think about it. He remembers thinking that he’d broken his leg and fucked up his arm and ribs when the drywall had pinned him down, but somehow on the other side of the situation, it still feels like a blow. As gruesome as it sounds, accepting his imminent death made his injuries feel so much less intense then they’d actually been, and now that he knows that he’s not gonna die, the scale of his injuries is overwhelming. He’s never been hurt this seriously before, not even after everything that happened during Sophomore Homecoming, so he’s not entirely sure how it  _ should  _ feel, but he’s guessing it shouldn’t feel like he’s fucked up as much as it does. There’s a certain amount of insecurity surrounding making a mistake during the incident that is still hanging around his brain and the more he dwells on it, the more he feels like maybe this would be easier to sort through if he understood what exactly had happened with the attack. 

He looks up at Tony and shrugs, trying and, immediately failing, to sound more calm and collected than he actually feels. “I’m okay, I guess. Just a little bit confused on what’s going on.” Admitting it out loud feels kind of embarrassing and he doesn't know why. “Like, I understand what happened to me medically. But what happened with the attack after you got me?” He tries to clarify. 

There are times, mostly in moments like this, when Peter realizes that, despite the lack of blood relation and years spent raising him, Tony is as much his dad as either of his predecessors. It’s always been difficult for Peter to lie to the people he loves, but there are certain people with whom it is nearly impossible. May and Ben had always been the biggest examples of that rule, but lately it feels like no one in his inner circle is exempt. There are a couple of long moments where Tony just looks at him and Peter can feel himself being read like a book. He half expects him to call bullshit, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, he just nods quietly and leans forward to give Peter’s hand a squeeze. And really, the understanding that Peter feels from that one little squeeze is equal parts lovely and terrifying to receive. It’s a solidarity that he doesn’t have with anyone one else in his life, a connection on a level that goes beyond empathy. Tony doesn’t just know where Peter’s head is at in theory, he knows it personally. Viscerally. He understands that the only way Peter is going to be able to process everything is if he has all the pieces of the puzzle, because he’s the exact same way. 

With a significant look, Tony uncrosses his legs and then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Here is what we know: The attack in Elmhurst was two fold. One explosion that happened exactly at 12pm and another that happened exactly at Three. The second bomb detonated maybe 20 minutes after I cleared you out of the basement. The block had already been almost completely evacuated by the time I arrived on the scene a little after two, but there was a group of first responders who’d stayed behind to try and triage some of the last of those who’d been severely injured by the first explosion. Nobody got seriously hurt, because from my understanding, they were able to get everyone out before the second explosion, but it was a very close call. The second bomb was a lot more powerful than the first and ended up completely decimating that whole section of Elmhurst. Just like the first it was undetectable.” 

“Police, FBI, Homeland Security, every federal agency related to weapons in terrorism has searched the whole area backwards and forwards and they can’t figure out what kind of bomb the attackers used. At the DOD’s request, I’ve had a look around and, Pete, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve got no clue what kind of weapon could have done that much damage without being detectable. The only reason anybody was able to survive the second explosion at all is because Spider-Man said there would be another. As you can imagine, a lot of very important people are very very anxious to talk to you about how you were able to detect the most advanced covert bomb the U.S. government has ever come across. Incidentally, I’m pretty curious about that too, but we’ll get into that later. Basically, we’ve got no answers. The government feels sure this was a terrorist attack because the attackers employed so many classic terrorist techniques, but no groups have come forward to claim responsibility for it and no one that’s on the government’s radar has the advanced weapons technology to pull something like this off. Meanwhile, America is going insane, New York especially. None of the information I just shared with you is public but the city and the state has done a pretty bad job of calming fears that another attack is imminent, mostly because they don’t know that it isn't. I—” 

“It isn't.” Peter chimes in, and to a certain extent, he surprises even himself with his words, but once they’re out, he knows it's the truth.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “It's not?” Peter shakes his head. “How do you know that?” Tony asks, curiously.

“Well, to be fair, I guess I  _ don't.  _ But my gut is telling me no on this one. I can just tell. Not sure why, yet,” he answers truthfully, giving Tony an earnest shrug before he gestures for him to continue. 

Tony gives him a look for a moment but eventually picks up where he left off. “Right. Well, New York is a mess. Half the people in the city seem to think the world is ending and the other half can't seem to be bothered about the whole thing. The divide is mostly exactly where you’d think it’d be and that's sparked a lot of online debate. Mostly though, Queens is mourning. Most small businesses in the borough have closed their doors for the past two days, either in solidarity with the victims or out of fear that they’ll be bombed next. Several churches have opened their doors for vigils and community counseling services, the schools that are still in session or that hold summer sessions have canceled classes. A lot of families lost their loved ones.” Tony’s voice trails off. 

Peter swallows down the lump that had formed in his throat and steels himself to ask the question that he knows he shouldn't ask, the one that can only hurt him, the one he  _ has  _ to ask. “How many people died?” 

Tony’s face softens and Peter can almost feel him look right into his head and read his thoughts. The same understanding as before passes between them. “107,” Tony says calmly. 

Peter tries to process that. Tries to quantify 107 humans lives as a real value in his head. It doesn't work. 107 people that he’d looked at, that he’d studied. The very same people that he’d walked by and sat next to and smiled at politely. That he’d eventually stepped over and pushed to the side and avoided scanning through his viewfinders. The bodies that lay still in full gray while he searched for the orange glow of a heat signature. 107. The number makes him want to puke. He looks back up at Tony, tears stinging the back of his eyes, and silently begs for more information. 

“There were, according to what the first responders informed us, 198 people trapped in buildings on the affected block. All of those people were saved. Every single person who was conscious during the rescue effort said that you were the reason everyone survived. People have been singing your praises for days now. There are murals and hashtags and donations being made in your name. There has been international coverage of your heroics. I haven't checked in a while, but I'm pretty sure the communications team has a billion requests for comment from every news outlet you can think of. There have been personal accounts from people who were trapped in buildings, reports from first responders that have somehow made their way to the press. Everyone is unanimous in their assertion that you saved the day. And Peter, you  _ did save the day.  _ 198 people are alive today because of the effort that you spearheaded. They are alive because of what you did. 198 people, Pete. That's the number you’ve gotta keep telling yourself. 198. And honestly, that’s just the number that’s quantifiable. Countless others were evacuated and saved from the second explosion because of you.” Tony’s voice is firm and clear as he speaks and Peter desperately clings to his words. 

There’s a big part of Peter that wants to counter Tony’s words with his own inner monologue of contest but he doesn't. The smaller part of him knows that Tony is right, that there’s a certain amount of lives lost that are just inevitable when it comes to attacks like this. That there was nothing he could have done differently to protect anyone from the first explosion. That he did the best that he could. But knowing all of that in his head does nothing to quash the heartache he’s feeling, and he wonders quietly to himself if there will ever be a time when being a “hero” feels better than this. 

His eyes meet Tony’s again and he wants to tell him everything that he’s feeling, because feeling it alone is starting to kill him, but he doesn't have the words, can't seem to find his voice. He struggles for a moment longer before just blurting out the simplest summary of his thoughts. “Will it suck this much forever?” He asks seriously, half ready to make it into a joke because it’s such a terrible thing to say. 

Tony just shakes his head. “In my experience it doesn’t. You’ll see. It gets better as time goes on. With therapy, and healthy coping mechanisms. And with people who understand what you’re going through. You’ll go back to helping people move couches into their new apartments and rescuing lost cats and you’ll remember that for every horrible incidents like this there are a hundred normal ones.” 

He nods at that, trying to take it to heart. He knows that it must be true. There must be a way to move forward from things like this, he's just not sure what that is. For maybe the first time in his life, though, he knows he won't have to figure it out alone. The thought opens a box in his head. 

“How is Aunt May doing?” Peter asks, just now realizing how odd it is that she’s not the one at his bedside. Memories of how out of it she’d been when Ben died flash through his mind and he’s uncomfortable with the thought that he’d come so close to doing that to her again.

Tony takes a deep, hard, long breath. “Honestly? I think she might be handling it all better than any of the rest of us? She’s been quiet and withdrawn but scarrily calm and organized throughout the whole thing. I think it helps that she understands the medical side of things. She’s been able to sit with Bruce and collaborate on your care plan and I think just busying herself with working out all the details of your recovery has helped her feel a bit less helpless than the rest of us feel.”

Peter nods slowly. That’s definitely not what he expected but in a way, it makes sense. May has been a parent for over a dozen years now, and even if she’s not used to situations that are superhero specific, she’s definitely not a stranger to worrying over Peter’s health. And maybe more than any time he’s gotten hurt in the past, she can understand what’s happening with him medically, because his healing is slowed down. And now that Tony and Pepper are in the picture, and pretty new to the whole thing, he can see why she’d take on the role of the “calm and experienced one” out of the three of them.  _ Three of them… _

Peter’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. “The rest of you? As in the rest of you and Pepper?” 

Tony snorts. “No, the rest of us as in Ned, MJ, both of his parents, MJ’s mother, Pepper, and I.” 

Peter’s eyes go wide. “What? Ned and MJ are here? With their parents?” 

Tony nods soberly and then sighs. “Yeah, there’s actually a lot I have to catch you up with on that as well. Are you up for more?”

Peter makes an exasperated choking sound. “Uh? Yes? Please explain.” 

Tony sighs again, leaning back in his chair. “Well I just want to start by saying that May, Pep, and I take full responsibility for all the decisions that were made on your behalf while you were unconscious and that you shouldn’t be mad at Ned and MJ,” he starts carefully. Peter gives him a sharp look that clearly communicates his desire for Tony to go on. Tony tentatively complies. “Alright. After I’d heard the explosion on the other end of the line and guessed that something had happened to you, I had Friday alert May and Pep right away and keep them updated as more information came in. When I got to the scene and had to work out how to get you out of the basement without the entire building collapsing on us, I threw myself into that and didn’t really think about anything other than making sure you were safe until you were being wheeled into the OR. Pepper got on the jet from LA to the compound as soon as she got word and sent Happy to get May. We were, I’d argue pretty understandably, focused on you and keeping you alive. But, ah, in the process, we all sort of forgot to contact Ned and MJ like we’d agreed to do if something serious ever happened to you.” 

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh oh.” 

Tony laughs nervously and swallows. “Yeah. Uh oh is right. It turns out that while we were freaking out about getting you into surgery Ned and MJ were desperately trying to contact us. And when they couldn't get a hold of us, they decided to borrow Ned’s father's car and drive up here to find out what was going on.”

“Oh no…,” Peter says, gravely. He can picture it so clearly in his head. MJ and Ned getting the news notifications and calling Peter only to be sent straight to voicemail. And then calling the Tony, May, and Pepper only to get nothing. It must have driven them insane. He’s sure the news had mentioned his involvement but who knows how many people knew about his medical status at that point. Or even now, come to think of it. 

Tony nods, catching Peter’s eye. “They got here and went to the hospital first, but their clearance only got them so far, and at this point they’d been stewing in their mutual anxiety for hours and hours, trying to piece together what was going on. I give you all this background information because it's important to understand where they were mentally when they made their next moves.” 

“Oh no.” Peter repeats, quieter this time, leaning in closer. 

“When the nurses in the front lobby wouldn't give them any information because they're not family, and security wouldn't let them access any of the private sections of the hospital, they somehow, mind you I still don't know  _ how _ , stole the access badges of two hospital employees and tried to find us that way. It got them into the restricted areas but they still had no idea where you’d be. They didn't even know if you were alive. The details of what happened next are blurry to me. All I know is that eventually they poked around enough on a hospital computer that it caught security’s attention. I’d been having Friday hold all interruptions until after you were out of surgery, but thankfully, because it was Ned and MJ and she knows them, she alerted me that they’d been involved with a security breach.” Tony takes and breath and scrubs a hand over his face, tiredly. 

“Oh god, Tony. What happened?” Peter asks and he’d laugh if it weren’t so unimaginably horrible. 

“Well as soon as I heard about it, I had security  _ relax _ and escort them to the waiting room we were in. May, Pep, and I were horrified after we realized we’d forgotten to contact them and scrambled for the 10 minutes it took them to get to us to figure out how to go about apologizing. But when they finally did find us, they were really not doing well. I like to think I've gotten to know both of them pretty well since Pep and I got more involved in your life, but I saw a whole new side of them that night. Ned was quiet, MJ...was not.”

Peter brings both of his hands up to cover his face. “Oh no,” he says through him. 

“She lost her mind at me, specifically, for approximately 15 full minutes, during which she somehow managed to remain respectful enough that I didn't exactly feel like I was being yelled at so much as being informed why every decision I have ever made in my entire life was incorrect and awful. After she finished, she turned to Pepper, asked for all the information we had on your condition, sat down in the seat furthest away from anybody and just…” Tony pauses, seemingly trying to find the right word, but Peter is pretty sure he knows what happened next. 

“Started sobbing?” He hazards a guess. 

“Yeah.” Tony nods and any thoughts that Peter had that the story might have had a funny ending disappear with the look on his face. “She got so worked up that we had to get a nurse to come in and treat her for a panic attack. Ned lost it maybe 5 minutes after she did. And at that point, we had to make some big decisions because it's one thing to keep your kid’s identity a secret from his friend’s parents to keep him safe, it's an entirely different thing to not tell someone that their child was medically treated for a panic attack under your supervision in order to maintain the secret.”

And that’s when it all starts to make sense to Peter. All the preamble to the explanation, why their parents are here now. “You told them I’m Spider-Man,” he says, and it’s not even a question. He knows that’s what’s happened. The look Tony offers him is a cross between concerned and determined and it's as good as a verbal confirmation.

“Peter, we had to. It was the only way we could explain what was going on and save the two of them from punishment that they frankly didn’t deserve. I know it was a bi—” Tony immediately jumps into explanations but Peter cuts him off. 

“Are Ned and MJ okay?” He asks because that’s really the only thing that matters to him. He won't be able to live with himself if they aren't. 

Tony gives him a surprised look. “They’re fine. MJ stayed in the hospital for a couple of hours but she eventually got released with no issues. Ned’s panic attack wasn’t as bad as hers. But because they were so worked up and had broken so many rules, we did end up telling their parents about everything.” 

Peter drops his head back against the pillow, closes his eyes, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding it. He waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah okay whatever...that’s fine. I don’t really care, to be honest. If it means that Ned and MJ don’t have to lie for me any more than good.” Peter takes another couple of breaths, trying to wrap his mind around all the crazy stuff his friends had done to try and make sure he was okay. “Are their parents mad?” He finally asks, because that's probably a good thing to know. He’s not really worried about the answer, he just wants to know either way so he knows how much sneaking around he's gonna have to do to still be friends with them. 

“A little bit,” Tony answers, still obviously taken aback by Peter’s disinterest in his identity being revealed to three new people. “Mostly at us, though. Not you. They were— are— actually really concerned about you. That’s why they’re all still here. We told them everything about you being Spider-Man and Ned and MJ chimed in with details about how they found out and how long they’ve known. We caught them up with what we knew about the attack and they’d already heard quite a bit about your involvement from the news. I’ll be honest, the three of us were fully prepared for the full weight of their displeasure, but they were mostly just shocked.” Tony looks at Peter and to his surprise, cracks a smile. “They were scared for you, Pete. All three of them at one point or another made a comment about how much you’d been juggling for so long and how they didn't understand how you’d managed it.” 

Peter snorts out a laugh. “I’ve only managed it because Ned and MJ come to classes with me and remind me about projects and very regularly lied their asses off to make sure that no one missed me when I disappeared.” 

“Yeah well.” Tony gives him a significant look. “That's exactly what we told them. Emphatically. And it turns out they've been doing more than we thought. Apparently they’ve been taking one online course in your name every semester for the past two semesters because all juniors are required to take 6 credit hours of online classes in order to move on to senior year and they knew you’d forgotten about it. They confessed to it while we were explaining everything.” 

Peter mouth falls open as Tony speaks, chest constricting at the words. He loves his friends so much there aren't enough words to convey it all. He thinks he should probably feel embarrassed that he’s such a mess that he’d forgotten about the requirement, but he can't bring himself to feel anything other than immensely grateful that he doesn't have to do this whole being alive thing by himself. He looks back at Tony with shining eyes. “I don't know what I did to deserve them.” 

Tony huffs out a laugh and looks at the ceiling for a moment before meeting Peter’s watery expression, “You’re impossible, kid, ya know that? The whole world just found out how big of a hero you are and you’re still trying to wrap your brain around having a family. How we’re not blood related is beyond me.” He shakes his head. 

Peter can't help but let out a laugh at that. It's so true. He’s not sure he'll ever get used to feeling so loved and he’s not sure he wants to. He’d never take this feeling for granted. All he wants now is to see everyone. “I assume that if Ned and MJ’s parents are still here that Ned and MJ aren't grounded forever?” Peter asks, trying to gauge how realistic it would be for him to spend the next few days doing nothing but watching Star Wars with his friends and family. 

“Oh no, they’re definitely in trouble.” Tony assures him. “But if you’re wondering because you want them to stay with you, I'm genuinely unsure if the combined efforts of all six of us parents could stop them. They practically handcuffed themselves to the waiting room chairs at the mere mention of getting some sleep in a guest bedroom.” 

“MJ would definitely stage a sit in.” Peter agrees, because it's obvious that they’d never leave him without a fight, now that he thinks about it. 

Just then Tony’s watch chimes softly on his arm. He turns to check it and then looks up at Peter, smiling. “Her ears must have been burning,” he says, matter of factly. “I asked Friday to let everyone know that you’ve woken up as soon as they do. I don't know if you know this, but it’s still pretty early, and our little group hasn't been keeping normal hours. I might get murdered for it, but I figured it was best to let everybody get some rest instead of waking them all up the second you cracked an eye open.” 

“Good call. I think it probably would have been overwhelming,” Peter agrees. 

Tony nods, knowingly. “Anyway, looks like MJ is the first one up so…” Tony sits back in his seat and gets comfortable. “We can probably expect her down here in a couple minutes.” 

As if on cue, moments later, Peter can pick up the faint sounds of someone walking quickly through the hospital hallway on the other side of his door. A nurse says something and then he can hear MJ’s voice, rushed and winded. There are three quick raps on the door and he says “come in” more out of habit than anything else and then she’s standing there in the doorway, hair still wrapped in a headscarf, swallowed up by a pair of too-big pajamas, big concerned eyes fixed on him immediately. 

“Em,” he says, not entirely sure what he wants to say to her, only just now remembering the horrible regret he’d felt in what he thought were his last moments at not having kissed her. He’s itching to say something about it, but his words are caught in his throat and it occurs to him that maybe in the hospital, on a decent amount of pain medication, is not the most appropriate place to confess your undying love for a person. 

MJ doesn't say anything in response, she just walks further into the room, quietly making her way to the side of the bed Bruce had previously talked to Peter from. She pauses for amoment and starts fidgeting with the small gate that keeps Peter trapped in bed or in this case, keeps her out of it. Once she manages to get it down, she wordlessly sits down on the mattress next to his very broken legs and fixes him with an intense look.

“I have to see a man about a spider,” she starts, evenly. Peter looks at her, confused and when she doesn't say anything else right away, he turns his questioning look towards Tony, who is pointedly not paying attention. “I really thought you had died,” she continues. “I really thought you had gone to save all those people during the attack and you got hurt and died. And the entire time we were driving up here I kept thinking ‘the last thing that idiot said to me was ‘i have to see a man about a spider.’” She stops to glare at him. He has no idea what to say. She starts again. “I can only assume that the only reason you’re alive today is because God was reviewing your application to heaven, saw that the last thing you said to your two best friends in the entire universe was  _ that _ and denied you entry.” She shakes her head. “Let me be clear: I understand that being your best friend comes with the occupational hazard of confronting mortality on a daily basis, and I am willing to do that because you’re very sweet and very brave and I love you very much. But if you ever go out Spider-Manning again and you’re last words to me aren't either ‘I love you,’ ‘#FinnPoe4ever,’ or the lyrics to a particularly soulful Hozier song, I will never forgive you, Peter Benjamin Parker. Never ever.” 

MJ doesn't wait for Peter to come up with a response, which is good because he has absolutely none. She swings her legs up onto the bed next to his, scoots herself back to sit next to him so she’s flush against where the bed is raised up and drops her head into his shoulder. The press of her body against his probably shouldn't feel so familiar and comforting, and maybe in another circumstance, one where MJ hadn't just said that she loves him for the first time, he'd be overthinking it all. But to him this is all suddenly very simple. Confessions of romantic intent will be offered when he’s not half broken and high off painkillers. For now, he gets to have this. 

“I do love you, Em,” he says, because he feels like maybe he should clarify. He lets his body sink against her, head falling to rest against the soft material of her silk headscarf and the pillow of wild curls hiding underneath it. Her shampoo smells like laughing feels. 

“I know. But it wouldn't kill you to put it in writing every now and again. I need proof for when I write my tell-all book,” she says with a huff. 

Peter smiles softly. His MJ smile. “I can do that. Do you need it by a certain time?” He jokes. 

MJ shakes her head beneath his own. “I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.” 

And she doesn't. Not when, one by one, everyone else wakes up and comes to see him, not when the surgeon comes in to explain the PT to the whole crowded room, not when Peter is served lunch or when the techs come in to take blood. She doesn't budge for the entire rest of the day. And Peter doesn't ask her to. And suddenly, with her pressed up against him, the prospect of taking the next couple of months to just heal isn't so horrible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm begging u to comment and freak out with me!


	13. XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! 
> 
> I am so sorry for this being a day late, I had a bit of a family emergency on Friday that derailed my weekend plans. Nevertheless, I persisted. Enjoy this CHONKY chapter and get excited for next week with our grand finale!!

**XIII.**

**Late June- Early July. **

The weeks following the attack on Elmhurst play out in a weird sort of slow motion for Peter. At least, that’s what it feels like, because for the first time in a very long time, most of his time is spent focusing on himself instead of other people. And he is, beyond any shadow of a doubt, still recovering from everything that’s happened. He complains about it a lot, and he means it when he does, but there's a certain niceness to being focused on that he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy.

Being the center of attention is nice, even if he’s not exactly used to it, especially when he’s Peter Parker and not Spider-Man. The first few days of his recovery are lovely. There’s a golden glow of thankfulness from everyone that he’s still alive, which is never  _ not _ the a nice feeling. Even Ned’s parents and MJ’s mom who he’d always thought sort of just tolerated him have nothing but nice words and warm hugs for him. It’s great for about two days. They all eat together in chairs pulled into Peter’s hospital room, they play games and watch movies, and take a break from the chaos of the city and the politics of the attack. It’s exactly what Peter needs after everything he’s been through and he’s reluctant to let them slip away. It’s all going by in slow motion and yet it feels like it’ll all be over too fast. There are moments when he looks around him and he feels the love of his family and his friends and his friend’s families and all he wants is to exist in those moments forever. But you can't freeze time. 

Slowly, the reality sets in that the entire summer pretty much every single one of them had planned is, at the very least, in dire need of amendment, and things get pretty tense. 

For the Leeds the big issue is that they had planned a huge family vacation for the majority of the summer in Manila, which they immediately postponed until Peter was okay. Now that he is, they want to go. Except Ned has basically handcuffed himself to Peter’s bedside and has made such bold assertions as “I’m not leaving Peter until he’s released from the hospital” and “no one can make me leave, I know my rights.” This, as one could expect, has caused friction between the parents and the teens. Somehow, and Peter still isn’t sure how, but somehow, MJ and Claire get involved and have a falling out along party lines. She and Ned insist on staying with Peter and the Leeds, The Starks, May and Claire are all in agreement that Ned should go on vacation like he’d planned with his family. If Peter’s being 100% honest, he thinks Ned should go with his parents too, not because he doesn't want him around, but because Ned only gets to see his extended family once every few years and he’s always so happy after he does, it wouldn't be right for him to miss out on that. But Peter loves that his friends are willing to go to war with their parents to stay with him, so he’s not overly inclined to voice that particular opinion. Plus all the attention is very nice. 

Eventually though, he can't ignore the situation any longer. He’s pretty sure it actually will get ugly if they don't come to an agreement soon so he nudges Ned and MJ into suggesting an arbitration session between everyone, which the parents agree to. After 14 hours of squatting in Peter’s hospital room, Ned and MJ meet with the 6 parents in a neutral conference room three floors above the hospital wing to talk things through. Peter takes a nap. When he wakes up 2 hours later, an accord has been reached. 

Ned agrees to go to Manila with his family on the condition that MJ gets to stay at the compound with Peter until he’s released from the hospital and they both call him daily for updates. The parents agree to the conditions easily, especially when Pepper picks that moment to inform MJ that she and Tony have decided to create an internship with Stark Industries that works with local art students to produce art to be displayed at their various properties, and they are interested in offering her the first position. It’s convenient, and everyone knows that, but they buy the art from the students at a marked up value and they offer studio and living space for the duration of the internship, so really, who cares? MJ takes it, her mom lets her, Ned leaves for Manila and that leaves things 1, 2, and 3 to work out their next moves in peace. 

What they end up deciding is team parenting at it’s best. All three of them have jobs and all three of them want to stay with Peter all day everyday, but those two things can’t exist simultaneously, so they compromise. May works three 12-hour shifts at the hospital in Queens every week, so she rearranges her previous schedule, which is spaced out to take on an every other day pattern, into one that allows her to work all three shifts in three days. She stays at her apartment in Queens for that half of the week and then spends the rest at the compound. Tony does most of his work for R&D from home anyway, but he still has to go into the office once a week, and it just works out that the best day for him to go in is on one of the days May has to work in Queens so on that day, Pepper works from home. It’s complicated and maybe impossible without Friday’s help, but no matter what, one of the three of them is always in the same building as Peter, if not in the same room. They have family dinner once every week. No exceptions.

Despite Peter’s complaints about having to stay in the hospital for monitoring and for physical therapy, he’s glad Bruce had put his foot down on the matter. He’d been completely correct when he’d told Peter that his body is no longer the body he knew before everything happened, which is kind of jarring because as a 16-year-old with super powers, he really didn’t feel like he knew his body all that well  _ before _ . He is, as it turns out, very wrong about that. It’s weird to say out loud, but being Spider-Man forced him to be completely in tune with his body, and now that a whole bunch of people have opened it up and tampered with it, he can feel the difference. 

He does physical therapy twice a day with a group of very kind therapists that work diligently with him and his slowed-down-but-still-accelerated healing to make sure that after about six weeks or so, he’ll be able to Spider-Man once again. It is hard work. Peter does not like it. But he likes feeling like he’s in someone else’s body even less, so he puts everything he has into the sessions. It helps him immensely that Bruce has also made it a requirement that he spend the entire duration of his recovery seeing a therapist once weekly. He walks into the first session expecting to get nothing out of it, because really how much can one 50 minute session do, ya know? He then promptly spends the next hour crying and telling his therapist about Penny. Afterwards he requests that his therapy sessions be increased to twice weekly because, well, he really really needs it. 

Living in the hospital sucks because he feels like he has no privacy and because he’s trapped inside all the time, but he also kind of likes it. He likes how routine everything is in the hospital. The techs come in every four hours to take his vitals and check on him, the nurses come in every few hours to give him his meds, the nutritionists come it at the same times every day with his food. It’s nice. Different from clusterfuck of school, Spider-Man, extra classes, and decathlon that he’d been existing in before. In the hospital he has time to breathe and to think and to worry about things other than school and being a superhero. He reads books for fun, journals as homework for therapy and doodles really shitty pictures in the corner of MJ’s sketch book that she comes back and creates better versions of later. It’s like he can just exist without having to earn his right to be alive. It’s very weird.

A really nice part of living in the hospital is how much he can get away with just being asleep. Even better, he can get away with being asleep and still wanting the company of other people. He’s always been a weird extravert that feels better when he’s surrounded by people he loves, and he’s always slept better when he’s not alone in the room. It’s one of his strangest qualities and he’s never really told anyone about it, but now that he’s got the very valid excuse of forcing his body to heal from near death, he doesn’t hold back. He sleeps whenever he feels like he needs to, and he sleeps especially well when he can trick other people into sitting with him while he does. It works entirely too often for the sum total of his support system not to know that he’s tricking them, but no one says anything about it. He assumes it’s because, well, they’re all kind of reeling from the attack and quiet time at his bedside isn’t exactly a hardship. 

It turns out that Bruce was also right to call Peter a test subject, because that’s very much what he ends up being. Bruce’s team takes blood, they run tests, and they ask a ton a questions about what Peter is feeling physically at any given time. It’s good because the more they find out about his body chemistry now, the easier it will be to help him when he inevitably gets hurt again, and Peter knows that, but the whole thing is kind of annoying anyway. The tests do make a couple things pretty clear to them, though. 

Firstly, after experimenting with the three different pain meds they’d put Peter on, the medical team comes to the conclusion that the combination of Percocet and Tramadol makes Peter’s senses super sensitive. They also figure out that the Ativan regulates the sensory input, which is why Peter had been able to hear and feel and smell everything so clearly when he’d first woken up but not the second time. They figure out a couple key things about Peter’s ability to stick to walls that they’re all extremely excited to experiment with more once his legs heal, but mostly, the entire team is focused on trying to figure out the science behind his spidey sense. 

The conclusion they come to, after weeks of studying everything they possibly can about his physical body, is that the majority of the sixth sense, isn’t actually connected to the physical. A portion obviously is, as he can dodge bullets and pretty much see things with his eyes closed, but Bruce makes an impassioned argument that the whole thing is just incredibly dialed up intuition, which despite being kind of a let down, does make the most sense to Peter. Bruce’s explanation of intuition is simple, he thinks it’s a combination of your lived experience and the information you’re taking in. He argues that every “gut feeling” is just the subconscious processing of all the information you’re taking in. Your brain works without you realizing it, and because of that, you’re compelled to make certain movements and decisions without knowing why. A lot of it is based on subtle things that you’re not automatically trained to see and understand on a conscious level like body language, facial expressions, general energy exchange, etc. For Peter, all of the stuff he studies and reads is stored in his brain and subjected to the same process, but because of his abilities, and his “higher than average” intellect, this sense is heightened as well. 

The only thing they can assume then, is that Peter must have, between his training and his studies and his patrols, picked up on some sort of clue that tipped him off to what was going to happen in Elmhurst when it did, and his brain just didn’t process it until the morning of the attack. It’s a shitty explanation for being able to, in part, predict the future, and the United States government shares that opinion when the appropriate people are informed of their findings, but really, no one can come up with a better answer. What is clear though, is that Peter’s heroics in Elmhurst have catapulted Spider-Man from a mostly New-York based superhero to a world-wide mystery. Peter is not sure if he’s glad about it. 

He doesn't suppose it’ll change much. He still plans on going out and being Spider-Man and taking care of his community all the same, but the inevitability of becoming an actual real-life Avenger has never been more obvious to him. He’s been confronted with the undeniable truth that he’s only going to be a friendly neighborhood superhero for as long as the problems he runs into are neighborhood problems, and somehow he thinks that those days are probably more behind him than ahead. He knows now— and maybe always has, but especially now— that there is no scenario where he doesn’t suit up to protect people if there are people who need protecting. If aliens invade New York again like they had before, he’s not gonna watch the Avengers handle it from the TV of a school gym in Queens, he’s gonna be fighting next to them.

Still, it doesn't feel like he should be getting all this praise. One of the things Peter can't get out of his head about is that he’s pretty sure all the heroic shit he’s done was, at least in part, because of MJ. If Bruce is right about his instinct, then the only reason he’d been at the scene of the attack or knew what to do once the first explosion had happened, is because of the fight he and MJ had gotten into the previous fall. He’d had a sizable chunk of people who loved him and wanted what was best for him, but MJ was the only one who saw that he could be doing better and actually pushed him to do it. She was the reason he was taking all of his extra classes, that he was in tactical training with Steve and Nat, that he’d been working so hard for the past year to understand his neighborhood and not just protect it. Not to, like, impress her or anything, but really, at her insistence that he hold himself to a higher standard. That he is worth holding himself to a higher standard. He knows for a fact that most of what he’d done during the attack, from the delegation of tasks, to utilizing the Iron Legion, to working with a team and so on, he would not have known to do if she hadn't kicked his ass in that argument all those months ago. If she hadn't been...well, if she hadn't been completely and utterly herself. 

He feels like if people are gonna praise Spider-Man for his heroism than they should praise MJ for hers too. But it's not like he can tell the world that she’s the real hero and he knows that if he tells her, she’ll just roll her eyes and call him a sap, so he doesn't. He keeps his lovesick amazement mostly to himself and tries to focus on the things that are happening in the world that actually matter. 

Watching the aftermath of a U.S. based terrorist attack play out in real time is something to behold. It’s like the attack on New York had been, but on a lesser scale, mostly because instead of a bunch of high-class office buildings and apartments getting ruined in Manhattan, the attack in Elmhurst mostly affected small businesses owned by the black and brown immigrants that live in the area. So people care because someone attacked America and we still don't know who it was and why they did it, but they don't  _ care  _ care. Like government aid to rebuild the community has been...slow to make itself available. NGOs have been doing a lot, but a lot more could be done. Peter is doing his best to keep himself informed while also protecting himself from being re-traumatized. It’s hard. 

It's also hard not to get lost in a spiral of trying to figure out why this all happened. Knowing that his enhanced instinct is what led him to the site of the attack only makes him that much more confident that somewhere inside his overcrowded brain, there is some information that can help solve this mystery. But trying to get to it is like trying to search for the name of a song you only know one jagged piece of the melody to. A big chunk of his considerable downtime is spent trying to dig the information out of himself with no success. The most frustrating part of it all is he's _ sure _ that being able to go outside to just be in the world would speed the process up, but he can't do that. Not with legs that are barely healed and an entire team of doctors studying him. He has to stay in a controlled environment, lest he mess up the research. So he's learning to let it go, working with Ale, his therapist, to remember it is not his job to catch the bad guys.

One of the many benefits of seeing a therapist through the healthcare team at the compound is that his being Spider-Man is already known by pretty much everybody with security clearance. He never had to tell Ale about his double life, she knew even before his first session, and though she was always ready to talk to Peter about it, she never steered the conversation to it over his own, Peter Parker problems, which he really likes. He talks to her about Ben and his parents and about the new parenting trio that has taken over for them, and about what schools he might apply to. He also talks about what it felt like to wake up after the explosion and have to immediately jump into action and how much he wanted all of his family to know how much he loves them. His sessions are a hodgepodge of superhero stuff and normal emotional teenage boy stuff. He talks about MJ a lot. 

Things with MJ are the kind of blissful that he had almost never previously taken the time to appreciate. The benefit of her internship with SI being, and Peter means this in the kindest way possible, sort of bullshit, is that she pretty much gets to keep whatever hours she wants. Her contract is to create 10 pieces of art that capture the essence of each of the buildings they'll be displayed in, and while it is generally understood that this needs to be completed by the time she graduates next June, it is clear to all parties involved that there are no pressing goals to be met on the day to day. Tony and Pepper agreed to pay her two thousand more than the market rate for any painting/print/sculpture of the same size. They also agreed that, because she's the first student to do the internship, she can help create the studio at the compound out of which she, and in the future other students, can work during the summer and on weekends once school starts. She'd been offered a guest bedroom since the day of the attack, but after the contract had been drawn up, she officially had quarters in the compound all to herself. 

Peter sees this as an absolute win for many reasons. Chief among them, selfishly, is that MJ gets to stay at the compound with him while he recovers and he won't be alone. Another big plus is that the payment MJ gets for these pieces of art will be enough for her to attend her dream school in Rhode Island without her mom's help, which is good considering that the last he'd heard, Claire is pretty firmly against MJ pursuing a career in art. Other than that, he's just generally excited for MJ to be able to put this kind of deal on her resume, because he's sure it will lead to more.

Her continued presence in the compound results in a sort of happy dance between she and Peter that he is not eager to let go of, even if he is slowly losing his mind from cabin fever. Every morning around 7:30, MJ meets him in his room to eat breakfast and scroll through Twitter together. This is something that started happening the day after Peter had woken up from surgery and has continued without discussion. She eats with him, stays for his 8:30 check in with Bruce which is always joined by whichever of the three parents is working from home that day, and then accompanies him to his first physical therapy session of the day before disappearing until just after 5. She usually joins him for dinner, although not always, and most of the time she sticks around after to either watch a movie or play a game or just generally be with him for the rest of the night, then she leaves briefly, gets ready for bed, and comes back to make sure he's okay for the night before going to sleep in her quarters. She is very often the first non-hospital employee he talks to every morning and the last one he talks to every night, so really, it's a daydream. 

The thing is, though, that the more time they spend together, the harder and harder it gets for Peter to confess how much he loves her. Even after his initial excuses are gone and he's been narcotic free for a full week, he still can't bring himself to do it. He half expects his old reasons for not doing it to start creeping up now that he's not, you know, in the midst of dying, but they don't. Any thoughts about protecting MJ from the dangers of dating Spider-Man are nothing but embarrassing memories now that he knows how dedicated she's been to him, even just as friends. It's foolish for him to think (or to have ever thought, but he tries not to go there) that MJ being his best friend places her in any less danger than being his girlfriend would, or that the danger would not be absolutely worth it to her. The part about it messing up their friendship? That sticks. 

He wants to tell her how he feels, he really really wants to, but there is also a tiny, powerful part of him that actually doesn't. The thing about telling her is that then she would know, and even if she doesn't reciprocate the feelings, the relationship they have now, would be lost. He's sure they'd work around it, find a way to joke about it after a couple months, but still. It would be different between them forever. And if she does reciprocate, it'll change what they have even more. 

As far as Peter understands romantic love, there is a certain amount of seriousness that's inherent with it. It's a commitment you enter into knowing that the only two possibilities for exit are either breaking up or death, which is just typically not the case for other relationships. As someone who's spent a good portion of his life feeling generally abandoned and burdensome, the thought is terrifying to him. Plus, things that are comforting and lovely and innocent now would inevitably become more suggestive if he and MJ were to become romantically entangled. 

Like when MJ climbs into the hospital bed with him to watch a movie or when he falls asleep with his head on her lap, those are things that, when done as best friends, are wonderful. But if they did that as a couple it would be, he'd imagine, seen by the townfolk (hospital staff) as quite salacious. The Peter from before this incident might not have ever considered this an actual reason to postpone telling MJ the truth about his feelings, but post incident Peter is all caught up in it. Every innocent moment of their friendship feels like it's single handedly putting him back together again and he's genuinely afraid that, if he tells her the truth, it will all disappear. The rational part of him knows that MJ wouldn't just bounce on their whole friendship just because he has feelings for her, but it's still scary. It's crazy how his reason for not telling her before all seem so trivial compared to this, but nearly dying does that to you. 

Another sort of weird but not all that unexpected side effect of the whole incident is that Peter says "I love you" all the time now. In fact, he's made a deal with himself to say it every time he feels it, which now that he's forcing himself to think about it, is all the fucking time. He and MJ had never said it before but it's become an everyday thing for them. He'd count it as a weird development in their relationship but he's also saying it to everyone else on the daily and maybe most surprisingly, so is she. She says it to her mom, to Ned, to Tony and Pepper and May, and once even on the phone to her father. It's nice. He's always known that she loves him and he's suspected for a while that she loves his family maybe just as much, but there is a familiarity between the whole group now that he thinks is probably the inevitable result of the horrible 40 hours they'd spent in anxious wait for him to wake up. 

He knows from his first panicked conversation with Tony that they'd been through something awful together, but the reality that maybe the incident had really changed them all isn't apparent until the following weeks. There's a part of Peter that is really compelled to believe in some sort of higher power when he considers the serendipitous nature of the whole fucking year, because really it's been a doozy. But then he remembers that 107 people are dead because of a terrorist attack that no one understands anything about, and it sobers him right up. Still, it's hard to believe in accidents when his life plays out like it does. 

**July 14th, 3:07pm.**

The thing with Aunt May’s dating life is that Peter isn’t supposed to know it exists. He does, not because he’s gone snooping or anything but because, though May Parker is a woman of many, many talents, keeping things secret from her superhero nephew is not one of them. Peter knows that May has been dating because he knows what the default sound alert is for most dating apps. He’s never been on any, because he’s 16 and that's illegal, but he does have access to the social internet, and through that has gotten a very thorough education on them. So after her, what could only be referred to as: adult sleepover with the waiter from Tony and Pepper’s wedding, Peter was immediately suspicious at the sound of the alert. It made a near constant appearance in his daily life right up until the end of April when, mysteriously, it went away. 

In his opinion, the alert alone was not enough evidence to confirm his suspicions, and MJ and Ned agreed when he’d informed them of the situation. Then one day in the beginning of May he came home from a weekend of training at the compound and found a matching set of wine glasses dirty in the kitchen sink, a set of two towels in the bathroom hamper, and a very suspect cardigan that he was quite sure did not belong to either May or himself. That's when he knew for sure. 

After that it was honestly kind of funny. May was comically bad at hiding when she’d had whoever-the-fuck over for a date. Peter found evidence of it literally everywhere he turned, stuff that he’d be aware of even without his super abilities. She continued to be clueless about how obvious the dishes and the towels were, but she also seemed to forget that he could smell the pungent cologne her date wore wherever they went, which was apparently in every fucking corner of the apartment, aside from Peter’s room. He’d have been suspicious that leaving all the evidence behind was her way of telling him about it, but she also lied regularly about where she’d been and what she’d been doing, as if she really thought she was covering her tracks.

Peter never made it a habit of following the people he knows as Peter Parker when he’s out being Spider-Man, but sometimes it’s hard to miss them. Karen automatically pulls up the name and profile on any civilian Peter has saved in his programing, so when he spots May or Ned or another classmate on the street, it’s almost like he’d alerted to it. More than once he’d accidentally spotted May out and about— clearly dressed for a date and waking to a fancy restaurant— only for her to come home and tell Peter she’d been at a networking event or a book club meeting, all while reeking of the same damn cologne. Peter would have been mad about the lying, but he’d lied to May about being Spider-Man for a full year, and she took it pretty well in the end, so he figures he owes her one big lie. Plus he didn’t really care. If May wanted to date in secret then he was fine letting her do that. 

He felt that way before the attack, and for about three weeks after it, he completely forgets that May dating is even a thing. He sees May four days out of every week and he is abundantly grateful for all of the sacrifices she has made for him, and he’s very glad to have time with her and everything is lovely and good, aside from his legs still kind of being very bad at being legs, but May even helps with that. 

Things between Peter and May are always okay, even when she’s mad at him or he’s annoyed with her, it’s one of his favorite things about her. The two of them decided at some point after Ben’s death that, because they are all the other has left, they’ve gotta just be okay with each other. Like, even if they’re furious, they’ll get over it, because they’re family and because they love each other and because nothing is worth losing that. May and Peter are a team. They work together and for each other and they’re mostly always honest, even when it’s embarrassing or hard. Peter really thought that he was putting that treaty to the test with the whole Spider-Man thing, but one of the first things May had said, after all the yelling and storming off, was that even still, they’re okay. She still loves him and they’re still okay. 

So that’s why Peter really surprises himself when, about three weeks after the attack, May walks into his hospital room after her three 12-hour shifts, smelling like mystery man, all of his previous resolve flies out the window. 

“Are you honestly not gonna tell me about this guy you’ve been dating?”

May stops short, not even five full paces into the room, still carrying her overnight bag in her hands. She looks at Peter with big eyes, clearly at a loss for words. 

“I—w-what are you talking about?” She says, obviously flustered. 

“This guy— person I guess— that you’ve been seeing for months now. Are you really not gonna tell me about them? Still?” Peter replies, trying to keep the notes of annoyance and hurt out of his voice, but ultimately failing. 

May’s eyes are still big as she continues to look at Peter in surprise, mouth open like she wants to say something but no words actually make it out of her mouth. Eventually she shakes herself out of it. 

“What makes you think I’m dating someone?” She asks him firmly, walking the rest of the way into the room and stopping by his bedside. The scent of the cologne that he’d spent the entirety of spring smelling follows her, coming into sharp relief when she stops next to his bed and crosses her arms nervously. Peter doesn’t have energy to play this game anymore, so he very purposefully does not hold back his eye roll and tired expression when he looks up at May’s anxious face. She’s as bad at lying as he’d been. 

“May. I am not stupid. I know that you were on dating apps earlier this year. I know that you stopped using them halfway through April. I know that you’ve been seeing the same person pretty regularly since then and I know that you’ve been having them over while I'm away.” Peter’s voice is tired, like he’s begging her to drop the act. 

May just looks at him for a long moment, eyes glued to his face, and then she blinks. “How on earth could you possibly know  _ all _ of that? Have you...do you somehow have access to my phone?” She asks in a very nervous voice.

Then it’s Peter’s turn to look surprised. “May you can’t be serious,” he says disbelieving.

May frowns at him. “What?” 

Then Peter can’t help it, he’s laughing hard at her. A part of him still isn't entirely convinced that she wasn’t trying to tell him in some way. but no, she’s just bad at this. He looks at her with a pitying look. “I didn’t  _ need _ access to your phone, this dude’s cologne has been all over the apartment since May,” he barely gets it all out between his giggles. 

Realization crawls over May’s features and she brings her hands up to cover her face. “Oh my god,” she groans from behind them. “Your super senses.” Her hands slide down to slowly reveal her mortified expression. She shakes her head like she doesn’t want to believe it. “I don’t even notice the cologne anymore.” 

Peter grins at her. “Yeah I mean you’re probably like...busy doing other stuff so…” 

May breathes out sharply and closes her eyes again. “Please stop. I—I am...so embarrassed. You’ve really known all along?” 

“Since the night of Tony and Pepper’s wedding,” Peter confirms, holding back his laugh. It’s funny because the whole conversation is a huge role-reversal, but Peter is still kind of surprised that he’d felt so compelled to ask her about it today. He hadn’t really thought much about mystery man since being in the hospital, and he hasn’t been home to be reminded, so when she walked in with the smell all over her, it was really the first time he remembered about the whole situation. And as soon as he did, he was ready for it all to be out in the open. No more secrets. Not now. Not after he’s almost died. He doesn’t mind her having secrets from him, if she really felt like she needs to, but keeping the secret that he knows is just too much for him to bare right now. 

May plops down into the seat that rests at the side of the bed, eyes not exactly meeting Peter’s. She sits there quietly and he doesn’t say anything else, mostly because he doesn’t know what he should say next, but also because he can tell that she’s actually mortified and he doesn’t want to make it worse. The silence is awkward, which he gets but sees no reason for. 

“Peter listen…,” May starts right as Peter finally decides to say, “I’m not upset.” Both of their mouths snap shut. 

Peter does his best to give May an encouraging smile. “You go,” he says. 

May takes a deep breath and finally looks at him in the face. “I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you.”

Peter’s smile grows more genuine. He shrugs “I’ve lied about worse for longer.” 

May gives him a look that says ‘you’ve got a point’ before shaking her head. “Yeah but you had your reasons for not wanting to tell me about that. This was just...just me being a bad parent.” 

“You’re not a bad parent,” Peter rushes to assure her. 

May shakes her head again. “No I know i’m not a bad parent in general, but with this, I was. I shouldn't have lied. It was wrong of me.” 

Peter doesn’t respond. She’s right but he feels like a dick agreeing, so he doesn’t say anything. 

“I didn’t want to tell you I was dating until I found something serious, which I wasn’t even sure I wanted, and didn’t think would happen for a long while, so I wasn’t worried. But then I started talking with someone and we hit it off and before I knew it and without my permission, it was serious. And I didn’t even know how  _ I  _ felt about it, so I didn’t know how to bring it up to you.” She takes another deep breath and continues, tone like she’s confessing her deepest darkest sin. “To be honest I felt sure, at least for a while there, that it wouldn’t work out because he’s a busy man and I have you and it just felt so complicated. I didn’t think it was worth telling you if it wasn’t going to work out, so I didn’t. But then it kept working out. Also…” May looks a Peter with such a heaviness on her face that he just wants to climb out of bed and hug her. “Also, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to replace Ben.”

Peter is shaking his head before she even finishes speaking, sure as soon as she started that she’d land there eventually. “Oh god, May. No, I would never think that. I realize we’ve never talked about this before, so there is no way for you to know this for sure, but I don’t have any problem with you wanting to date again. I don’t. I want you to have someone, multiple someones if you want, I really don’t care. I just want you to be happy. I know enough about losing people to know that there is no such thing as replacing them. You don’t have to worry about that. Part of grieving is moving on. We all have to do it.” Peter’s voice is thick and intent. He wants to make sure she understands him clearly. 

May looks back at him, tears threatening to spill over. She looks so much smaller than she normally does, sitting in the chair and nervously fiddling with her jewelry, Peter can finally, maybe for the first time ever, see what May must look like to everybody else. He’s always seen her as a superhuman, the woman who lost her parents in her twenties, her best friends in her thirties, and her husband in her forties and has still found a way to move forward, not just in the barely making it by sense, but in the laughs daily, dances to jazz music in the park, and cheats at board games sense. She lives fully and loudly and generously, despite all her loss, and she’s always been the best example of the power of optimism to Peter. He knows intellectually that she is just a person, but in his heart she is the embodiment of everything he strives to be. Seeing her now, he’s realizing that maybe parts of her  _ have _ been moving on in the barely making it by sense. He can relate. 

“I never give you enough credit,” May says, swiping a tear away as it falls down her cheek. She gives him a shaky, watery smile. “You’ve always been a smart kid, but sometimes I do forget that you’re not a kid anymore.” She stands up to rest a hand over the side of his face, thumb rubbing a pattern over the apple of his left cheek. “You’ve been growing up so fast and I haven’t done a good enough job of remembering that,” she says softly. “Still want to protect you like you’re a kid, but you’re already out in the world. You’re out saving lives.” She shakes her head. “I don't ever get to see you like that, so it's easy for me to forget that you’re an actual superhero. And on top of that, a very emotionally intelligent young man.” 

Peter is quiet for a moment as he leans his head against the weight of her hand. It strikes him that he can trace their current positions back through all the most important conversations they’ve ever had. Her hand on his face, his hand over hers. His eyes start watering too. 

“You’re too hard on yourself. I honestly didn’t mean to make you feel bad by bringing it up. I just didn’t want to have to keep the secret of knowing about it any longer. I don’t want to have to keep unnecessary secrets anymore. I just can’t handle it,” he tells her quietly. 

May moves her hand up to push his curls away from his face. “I know sweetie. I know you wouldn’t have brought it up after all this time if you didn’t think it needed to be said. And it did. I should have told you about Jim as soon as there was something to tell.” 

Peter’s small watery smile grows into a proper grin. “So his name is Jim…” 

A wave of nervousness crosses over May’s face again. “Right. About that…” May busies herself by fidgeting with his blankets, straightening them out as she talks. “You mentioned that you knew about the dating apps I was using, but I didn’t actually meet Jim through any of those,” she starts, grabbing the pillow from behind Peter’s head. She brings it up to her face to make sure it’s clean and makes a face when it pulls away. 

Peter ignores her nervous cleaning, used to it by now. “Yes! I want to know more about all of this. How did you meet? What is he like? Is he cute?” 

May walks across the room to the small linen cabinet in the corner. “Well that's the thing…” she laughs nervously, walking back over to Peter, fresh pillow case in hand. “You know him,” She says, finally. 

Peter frowns, thinking quickly. “I...I don’t know a Jim,” he says slowly, racking his brain and coming up short. 

She smiles at him as she wiggles his now naked pillow into the new case, still obviously nervous. “Um. He goes by his last name mostly. Sometimes by his rank.” 

Peter looks at her confused, still drawing a blank. “What’s his last name?” 

She clears her throat and stops her movements, making eye contact with him. “Um. Well, Rhodes, actually,” she says very quietly. 

Peter blinks. “Mystery cologne guy is  _ Colonel Rhodes _ ?” 

May nods, biting her lip. 

“You’ve been dating  _ Colonel James Rhodes _ for months?” Peter asks for clarification, tone incredulous. May nods again. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never thought about it before, but it kind of makes sense? He knows they get along really well because they’d all spent Christmas together the year before and it was great, but he hadn’t picked up on any sparks flying. Now he’s wondering if there were and he’d just been too caught up in his own lovesick mess to see it. Then a thought occurs to him. 

“Does Tony know?” He asks, because Rhodey and Tony are super close, and he doesn’t imagine Tony would be all too pleased to find out his co-parent and his closest friend have been— well—  _ have been,  _ for months without telling him. 

“No. You’re the only person who even knows I’m dating again,” May informs him, still messing with the pillow in her hands. 

Peter can’t help the loud belly laugh he lets out. He starts cackling and he can’t stop it, not even when May’s frown meets him. “I’m sorry,” he laughs out. “I just— imagine when he finds out…” He can’t even keep his eyes open the thought of Tony’s face is too funny. “He’s literally going to lose his mind.”

May looks at him concerned. “You think he’ll be mad?” 

Peter lets out another couple of stray chuckles, trying to get them under control. “Not at you. He’ll probably try and kick Rhodey’s ass but only for not telling him. I am willing to bet it takes Tony 12 whole hours before he starts planning some sort of couples vacation for the four of you.” 

“Oh god.” May groans. “That’s exactly what Jim said when we talked about telling him. That man exists to exhaust me.”

Peter grins wildly. “This is actually great, May. I already love Rhodey, and he’s already aware of the  _ complexities _ of our lives. He's an Avenger so that's awesome. Plus he’s hot!”

May cracks her first real smile. “I really do like him a lot, Peter. He’s very different from Ben and I think that’s the reason it works so well. I don’t have to think about all that I’ve lost every time we talk.” She comes around to perch at the edge of his bed. “We’re interested in so much of the same stuff and he is an excellent listener, which is really important to me because I don’t feel like a lot of men are.” She shakes her head, looking off to the side while she speaks. “He’s intelligent but not intimidating. He’s caring but not a worrier. He’s charming, but not in a way that makes me feel like I have to think of clever retorts to everything he says. I don’t know. I think it’s good, what we have. We’re really compatible,” she says, is a sort of blissed out tone. “Plus, he is  _ very  _ good looking.” 

Peter feels like his grin could not get any bigger. He’s so thrilled to hear May finally open up about all this. It feels good, like a new era of her life is starting. He really wouldn’t have cared if it were some random guy she met at yoga class or at the grocery store, but the genuine happiness he feels at the fact that its Rhodey is something he wants to hold onto. Rhodey is exactly the kind of guy May deserves to be with, and from the sounds of it, things are going  _ well.  _ He so glad he could clap. 

“This is excellent news. I can’t wait to tell Ned and M—Uh. I mean, I can’t wait to not tell anyone and respect your guys’ privacy for as long as you need to feel ready to share with the rest of the world,” he corrects himself halfway through, realizing only once he’d started saying it that he maybe shouldn’t have told them about everything when he’d first realized something was up. 

May looks at him knowingly. “Ned and MJ already know that I'm dating someone, right? I assume you told them as soon as you suspected.” 

Peter’s gaze darts away. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “They’ve been helping me collect evidence.” 

May sighs. “I’ll call Jim and tell him that it’s time to come clean. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Might as well be now. I don’t want you to have to keep any secrets for me.” 

Peter nods, still not meeting her eye just yet. “So..” He glances up. “Does that mean I can call Ned and MJ and tell them?” 

May rolls her eyes. “Yes, by all means, call and spill the tea or whatever it is you three always say.”

Peter actually wiggles in his excitement as he reaches for his phone. 

**July 31st, 3:38am **

After the brief scandal his weird little family enjoys at finding out about May and Rhodey’s illicit affair, things die back down again. The parents keep up their arrangement to make sure Peter is never without at least one of them if he doesn’t want to be, he and MJ fall into their easy routine, calling Ned daily with updates, and Peter goes back to the hard work of trying to heal. The only big change is that he actually feels a lot closer to May than what they’d been for the past few months. It’s not just because they can talk about Rhodey, but because, in forcing themselves to confront the fact that she’s dating again and that he’s fine with it, they were also forced to confront how much the both of them have grown since Ben passed away. 

Peter’s spent a good portion of his therapy sessions trying to process it, but it feels like there is a distinct shift between them. He’s used to the two of them being a team, but he knows now that there was probably a lot of hurt that May shouldered on her own before, and now she’s starting to let him see that. To be fair, there is a lot of hurt that he kept secret from her that he’s only just now letting her see too. It’s nice. He’s always considered their relationship to be an honest one, but this is a different kind of honest. They’ve always loved each other, but now they’re really starting to understand each other, and it never used to feel like that. That has always been one of the best things about having Tony in his life, the two of them understand each other. It never occurred to him until Ale mentioned it offhandedly one day, that a certain about of his growth with May is  _ because  _ of what he and Tony have learned from each other. It stays with him for a while, added into the rotation of what he thinks about in the long stretches of silence he sits with when he does his 30 minute walks around the compound three times a day as part of his physical therapy. 

His therapist— physical not emotional— only allows him to walk by himself on the conditions that he allows Friday to monitor his vitals, stays within the same few floors, and does not push himself. He mostly follows the conditions. He always wears his medical bracelet to give Friday access to his vitals and he never strays further than his allotted route, but he does occasionally walk faster and longer than he knows he's supposed to. Well. Sometimes he jogs. Not a fast jog, just a celebratory “my legs are getting way better at being legs” jog. Casual. Conservative, really. 

Anyway that’s how he ends up trapped in bed, buzzing off of the Percocet and Tramadol he hasn’t had to take in about a month, running through the lecture his physical therapist had given after finding out about his escapades, and generally feeling like an idiot. He thankfully hadn’t done any major damage to his recovery except caused himself some unnecessary pain and in turn, a couple hours of intense sensory input. Bruce had offered to give him a dose of Ativan to temper it, but Peter doesn’t like how sluggish and fuzzy he feels on Ativan so he’d asked to try and stick it out. 

He doesn’t necessarily regret it, because he does really hate how Ativan makes him feel, but then again it’s nearly 4am and he can’t go to sleep. He can handle the feel of everything around him and the sharp smell of antiseptic, but hospitals are never quiet and he feels like he can hear everything going on throughout the entire floor. The only thing that seems to block out the sounds is focusing in on his thoughts, so that’s what he’s been doing. He thinks about school, about what he and Ale have been working on in their sessions, about eventually telling MJ about his feelings, and how much he wants to leave the compound and get back into the city. He’s lost inside his thoughts when, like someone unmutes the sound to a heavy metal music video, a knock on his hospital room door forces all the sounds around him to come back in sharp relief. As always in the hospital, the beeps of the heart monitors reach him first, the sounds of the other patient’s TV’s and the nurses chatting slowly blending in as well to become what could only be described as  _ noise.  _

Peter tries to focus his brain. “Come in,” he says just loud enough for whoever it is to hear. 

The heavy door swings open slowly and Pepper’s frowning face pokes inside. “Hey,” she says, looking at him in concern. “You okay?” 

Peter’s lips curve into a half hearted smile. “I’m fine. Pain meds make the sensory input a lot, so I'm having a hard time getting to sleep,” he informs her. 

She nods in understanding and then pauses, raising her eyebrows. “Can I come in?” 

Peter frowns at her and rolls his eyes. Pepper is always very careful to respect his boundaries, even if he’s never set them with her. “Of course you can.” he leans forward to pat the bottom corner of his bed. “Come distract me from all the amplified heartbeats.” 

She smiles and pushes the door the rest of the way open to come in. As always, even in pajamas and a robe, Pepper looks like she could be getting ready to walk out on a red carpet. She trudges into the room in her favorite Iron Man slippers and settles comfortably onto the spot he’d tapped, folding her legs into a criss cross fashion in front of her. 

“You didn't want to take the Ativan?” She asks him as she gets comfortable. 

He shakes his head. Having her to focus his attention on is having the desired affect. “Makes me feel far away and fuzzy,” he answers. 

She nods. “That's fair.” 

Peter offers her a small, soft smile. “What’s got you up so late?”

Pepper shrugs and gives Peter an entirely unconvincing non-committal look and then quickly drops the act once she realizes how bad she is at it. Her eyes meet his and her expression is serious but also excited. “Can you keep a secret?” She questions him in an even tone. 

His eyebrows raise as he blinks. “I mean. Better than anyone I know. But I really don't like keeping them,” he says honestly. 

She nods quickly. “Yeah, that's understandable. Alright then. I— uh— couldn't sleep! Barista must have mixed up the decaf and regular this afternoon,” she brings her shoulders to her ears and lies casually. 

He huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes at her. “You can't just tell me you have a secret and then expect me to rest easily. Now I  _ have  _ to know what it is,” he says indignantly. 

She snorts at him. “You just said you hate having to keep secrets!” 

He frowns and waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah but this is different. I can handle keeping a secret if the tea is worth it!” 

Pepper eyes him for a second and then grins. Peter matches her grin with one of his own and pairs it with a curious but excited expression. “...something tells me the tea is worth it…” 

“Peter…” She starts, tone giddy. 

“Pepper…” He replies, tone expectant. 

“According to several tests and some pretty reliable blood work, I am going to have a baby,” she says finally, looking at Peter with a smile so bright it's like he can feel it in his heart.

Several thoughts run through his brain in the second after she speaks, mind so overactive that he’s genuinely incapable of forming a full response for a long moment. And then he finally grins back. “Pep I am going to scream.” She laughs at him. He looks at her in question. “Are you serious right now?” 

“As a heart attack,” she informs him.

He brings his hands up to cover his mouth because he actually thinks he might scream. “This is...huge…” He looks at her with his eyes wide. “And iconic. This is iconically huge,” he asserts. 

“Yes I agree. It is definitely both of those things.” She nods. 

His brain finally catches up to him and he thinks of something halfway decent to say. “How do you feel?” Suddenly he remembers that Pepper is, while timelessly brilliant, not necessarily within the typical age range of a pregnant woman. 

One of Peter’s favorite things about Pepper is that she always takes her time to answer his questions both completely and honestly. She considers it for a moment before answering. “Physically? I feel okay. I’m 8 weeks in, so it's still early on, but I'm doing well enough that I only noticed something was off with me a couple of days ago, so. That's something. Mentally, though I don't know. To be honest I'm a little scared,” she admits. 

Peter is never sure what to do when people trust him with stuff this intimate, but he also  _ loves _ the feeling of being trusted so much. Normally he just tries to change the subject, but Ale says that’s just a defense mechanism and he can't exactly do that right now, so he’s left to his own emotional devices. 

“Because there's an alien growing inside you?” He asks, sympathetically. 

To his immediate relief, Pepper giggles at that. “More like: soon there will be a whole new person in the world that I've got to not mess up somehow. And even more, they’ll be half Stark!” She says, earnestly. 

“Oh good so it_ is_ Tony’s,” he teases. 

Pepper actually snorts as that and gently smacks his leg in reprimand. “I’m serious,” she tells him, slight whine in her tone that is very unlike her. “What if...I don't know. What if I'm too  _ serious  _ to be a mom. Like what if I'm bad at it?” She asks quietly. 

Peter is gawking at her in disbelief, a few seconds away from jumping in with his own defense of her, but then she starts talking again. “I’m not worried about Tony,” she says firmly. “He'll be worried about it, but I've seen him with you, I know that you’ve been his kid since he gave you the suit. I know that he’s ready because he’s been a dad for years now.” She shakes her head. “I’ve seen May with you, too. And there’s a softness between you two, a silliness that I am just not very good at. She’s probably the best parent I've ever known, and I don't think I can be like that.” She finishes quietly, voice thick and serious. 

That catches Peter up short. He’s never really considered it before now, but he supposes it would be easy for Pepper to misunderstand her standing with him. They’ve never been anything but friendly and effortlessly comfortable with each other, but that doesn't necessarily mean the same thing to both of them. In his head, Pepper is one of his parents. Everything about her actions and her words has cemented that truth in his brain, but from her perspective, he’s never actually articulated those feelings. It would be easy, he now sees, for her to think that her role is really much more akin to step-parent than anything else, because he’s already got a mother figure, so he’s sure she doesn't think he needs another one. 

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and then he can't get the words out fast enough. “Pep, I really hate to be the one that breaks this to you, but you’ve been a  _ mom _ for years now too. Like. You are fully and completely  _ one of my parents _ . I’ve always felt that way about you— or well— at least for as long as I've felt that way about Tony. I mean, Tony and I, we speak the same language, so it’s easy for us to be on the same page with each other. I don't think either of us have found that with anybody else. May is incredible and I wouldn't trade even a single thing about her, but I definitely have enough room in my heart and enough problems to split between two moms, if I have two who want me,” he says firmly. Then he thinks of more to say. “Also, I don't even think you actually all that serious with me, but even if you were, who says you can't be serious and be a good mom? I mean, I'll be honest, I never feel like a situation is more handled than when I know you’re the one taking care of it. Like remember when I was upset about Mr. Anderson being homophobic and not accepting my book report on Carol because it had “adult themes” and I told you and Tony about it over dinner and then you went to Principal Mortia’s office and lost your mind? Big mom energy. You’ve always been like for me. You’re one of the busiest and most powerful women in the world and you’ve rearranged your entire work schedule so that I never have to be by myself while I recover, and you did that without batting an eye. You don't have to worry about being a good mom to the alien baby, because you’re already a good one to me,” he says, finally out of words. 

Pepper looks at him intently for a minute and then wipes away the tears that she’d let slip down her face while he spoke. Peter didn't mean to make her cry, but he also can't take back anything he said, and he’s pretty sure it's a happy cry, so he lets it pass without saying something. 

“Well,” she finally breathes out. “I really wish I had recorded all of that so I can play it back over the next eighteen years.” She lets out a watery chuckle. “I don't even know what you say.” She pauses for a moment to consider it and then speaks again. “When I first met you, I knew right away that my life wasn't gonna be the same. I’m sure you don't remember, but you and Tony were working together in his workshop in the city when we first met. It was really quick, but it completely changed things for me. I spent 10 minutes watching you two interact, after hearing about you nonstop for weeks, and I just  _ knew  _ that you were it for him. That he’d finally found the thing that he’d been looking for his entire life. Not just something worth investigating in, but  _ someone. _ ” She smiles up at Peter sweetly. “I didn't think I could be more in love with him than I already was, but watching you become his kid really proved me wrong. And then I was proven wrong again when he and May found a way to co-exist together peacefully, not just as your parents but as a family. I have loved you like my own for a long time, but I never wanted to over-step or complicate things any further.” 

She brings her hands up to cover her face and giggles from behind them, shaking her head. “I got so in my head about it.” She drops her hands down again but continues on, tone embarrassed. “I kept catching myself referring to you as my kid and then feeling bad about it. I did it the day of the wedding with May and ended up sending her a long text message apologizing for accidentally stepping on her toes.” She looks at Peter and snorts. “All she replied was ‘please don't be ridiculous, we’re all in this together.’ with a little family emoji. I felt so silly.” 

Peter can't help the laugh he lets out at that. It's so very like May to be so casual about things that most people would get upset about. “I love May. She really gets right to the point,” he comments with a chuckle.

Pepper laughs too. “Yes she does. And she was right. You both are. I've been all in for you since day one, I really hope you haven't taken my apprehension at overstepping as hesitance toward  _ you _ .”

He just shrugs and looks at her seriously. “Honestly, Pep, I never even knew about all this. All I've ever gotten from you is, again, big mom energy, so I never questioned it.” He offers her an encouraging smile and then moves his feet over so they’re resting against her knee. “I’m sorry I never made it clearer how much I love you. Like, I know you knew I loved you, but I'm sorry I didn't say it outright more often. Before the attack,” he clarifies. 

Pepper smiles sweetly at him, leans a hand down to place gingerly on his leg. “I love you too. Thank you for helping me talk through my thoughts, kiddo.” 

Peter just nods in response, a quiet comfortableness falling over their conversation. Pepper leans back against his footboard more firmly, mind clearly taking her somewhere else, and Peter leans on his pillows to do the same. His brain works hard to focus in, his thoughts barely tangible over the constant sound of the hearts beating around him. He takes a deep breath and tries to follow his last thought where it takes him, but it's not working so he gives up and let's himself sit in the noise for a moment. 

And then he notices something. Most of the heartbeats that he’s hearing sound more or less the same, generally keeping the same speed and tone, a few louder because they're closer to him, but the same nonetheless. But there’s one that’s different, one he’d not noticed before. One that is quick and small and insistent and close to him. 

When he realizes what it is he gasps and turns to look at Pepper with a wide-eyed, open-mouthed grin. “Oh my god,” he says, still not quite believing it, even though it makes complete sense. “Pep I'm pretty sure…” He’s quiet for another moment. “I’m pretty sure I'm hearing the baby’s heartbeat right now!” 

Pepper meets his excited expression with one of her own, left eyebrow arched but grin firmly in place. “Can you really?” She asks, clearly surprised. Then she seems to have a thought. “Can you hear my heartbeat too? Like all the time?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Not all the time, but I can right now.” He stops and listens some more and then frowns. “Is the baby’s heartbeat supposed to be really fast?” He asks cautiously. 

Pepper nods right away. “Yeah, it’s always like that, no worries,” she assures him, beaming up at him. “This is so cool, Pete. Do you realize that aside from the doctor and myself, you’re the first person to hear the baby’s heartbeat?” 

Peter’s frown comes back. “I am?” He asks, surprised. “What about Tony?” 

“Tony doesn't know about the baby yet,” Pepper replies easily. 

“What!?” Peter balks. “Why not?” 

“Because,” she starts in a conspiratorial tone. “I want to tell him in a special way on family game night next week. But I need an accomplice to pull it off.” 

Peter’s mouth opens and he nods in understanding. “Is that why you came down here? To rope me into this plan?” 

“Of course not. I came down her to check on you because Friday told me you were still up,” she assures him. 

Peter points at her. “See? That’s big mom energy.” 

Pepper just laughs and rolls her eyes. “So. Are you in?” 

He looks at her with pursed lips for a moment. “I can’t tell anyone until next Sunday?” He questions through a groan.

“No.” She confirms. 

“Not even MJ?” He pleads

Pepper considers him for a moment. “I’ll make you a deal. You can tell MJ only after you have confessed your feelings for her.” 

Peter’s face scrunches. “That’s a dirty trick.” 

Pepper just shrugs. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” 

Peter frowns harder, but only as a show. He enjoys being on the inside of things way too much to pass up the opportunity to trick Tony and also give him the best news of his life. “Fine,” he finally agrees. “What did you have in mind?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had some twists that I literally couldn't wait to write out all throughout writing this story. What are your thoughts? 
> 
> Thoughts on May and Rhodey? I personally LOVE the idea of them being together, though May and Happy is always nice in irondad fics. I wanted something different. 
> 
> Also Pep's gonna have a baby!!! freak out with me!!


	14. XIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking: this is not the 7th. Well I realize that, obviously. But I got the flue really horribly last weekend and just couldn't finish this. I tried, I promise. But here it is now. 
> 
> Listen guys, I don't have words to describe how much fun it's been to write this and share it with you. I hope you love it.

**XIV.**

  
  


**August 6th, 12:57pm.**

  
  


Peter is going to tell MJ that he's in love with her. 

Today. 

Right now. 

Or well— that is what he told Ale he was going to do after he'd spent a good 30 minutes of their session rambling about how much he wants to. Ale encouraged him and talked him through his holdbacks for what felt like the hundredth time, so that by the time he'd walked out of her office, he was claiming that he was going to go find MJ and just get it over with. So that's what he's doing. Sort of. 

At the moment he is well and truly lost somewhere on the ground level of the compound, looking for her. He’s sure that if he looks in his email, he'll find some sort of Excel spreadsheet from Pepper that lists all the people in the compound and where they're quarted. He's sure that it would also label where MJ's newly finished studio is located. He knows that he could just ask Friday where MJ is at the moment and, provided MJ has consented to being monitored by the AI, he'd be led straight to her, regardless of whether she is in her quarters or studio or wherever else in this giant building. But if he does that, well, then he would actually find her and then he'll have to tell her the whole ugly truth and he's still putting the finishing touches on how exactly (or at all) he wants to do that. So his plan is to wander around this section of the compound until he rules out the possibility that she's here before moving onto the next. 

His instincts, newly crowned stars of the year that they are, lead him to the right section on his first guess. He's only two minutes into his lazy walk when he hears the distant sound of Beyonce playing through a loudspeaker, a clear indication that MJ is both near and powerful. He feels unprepared. 

_ Say "Hey Mrs. Carter" _

_ Hey Mrs. Carter _

_ Say "Heeeeeey Mrs. Carter" _

_ Heeeeeey Mrs Carter _

_ Give me sum _

Peter moves down the hall to the melotdic sound of the bass beat rattling the walls around the room to the far right. The tempo of _ Partition _ picks up and, despite the nerves biting at the opening to his throat from his stomach, he can't _ not _ dance to it a little as he approaches the room's door. 

_ See me up in the club with fifty of them girls _

As expected, MJ seems to be at peak power when his eyes fall on where she's sitting hunched over something halfway through the room. She looks so much like herself it almost hurts him to look directly at her, the contentment of the familiarity of her always at war with the terror of the intensity of his feelings. His eyes linger on her for another moment and he briefly wonders, taking in the headscarf and high waisted patterned pants, how she's managed to capture all his favorite things about her at once.

He tears his gaze away and it flickers around the room before settling on a huge abstract canvas that's propped up against a table to the side of the work space. If he'd ventured here two weeks ago, the sheer amount of sensory input being generated by this single room would have done him in for sure. But the copious amounts of work he's been putting into trying to return his senses to a manageable level, without the use of Ativan, haven't all been for nothing. Its not a conscious decision to tune out sound in order to focus on what he's seeing but he notices that he's definitely done just that when he tunes into the song again and it's 30 seconds later than he remembers it being on the track. 

Beyonce sneezes on the beat, it undeniably gets sicker, and MJ offers a very small and half assed dance routine from where she's lip bitingly focused on her project. He still can't really see it with her busy hands blocking his view. The sight of her dancing spreads a quiet calmness through him, mind flooded with memories of terrorizing Happy with their playlists on car rides to the compound. He swallows around excuses he's already entertained long enough. 

The song slips from its first verse to it's second and Peter knows his in when it comes around. 

_ Driver roll up the partition please _

_ I don't need you seeing 'Yonce on her knees _

"imagine _ Beyonce _ making eyes at you while on her million dollar knees in the back of a limo for you and still cheating on her." Peter's voice is loud and clear over the music. 

MJ jumps at the sound of it, whipping her head around to look at him with a grin that's half surprise and half delight at the topic of conversation. "Friday, half volume," she instructs, not looking away. The music softens significantly around him. MJ's voice is full of meaning when she responds. "I can't listen to this without thinking about how hard _ Sorry _ goes and just trying to draw the line of logic and reason between this point in their marriage and that. It boggles my mind." 

He huff's out a grin to match hers in response. The appeal of getting lost talking about nothing with MJ is so lovely— it's one of his favorite things to do— that reminding himself of his goal to bring the conversation around to confessing his love for her is harder than focusing his senses has ever been. 

"They let you out to play?" MJ questions him. 

"They did. Said I could go be a real boy for a few hours, provided Friday keeps an eye on my vitals and I don't overexert myself."

Her eyebrows raise. "And are you?" 

"Overexerting myself? Definitely," he confirms. "So far I have gotten out of bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed my pajamas, gone to Ale's office for Therapy, and taken the elevator down here to find you. So...I'm coming up on death's door as we speak." 

MJ wiggles her eyebrows playfully. "So your first stop after being freed was my studio?" 

Peter shrugs in a way he hopes doesn't convey his utter lack of indifference. "I heard Beyoncé and followed the sound to the promise land. Speaking of which—" he looks around the newly created studio, half finished art projects strewn all over the place, more than a few he recognizes from their previous home in her bedroom. "—this space is...pretty incredible, Em." He looks back at her with a smile curving his lips. 

MJ's face is gleeful. "Peter..." She closes her eyes as if to collect herself. "It's so perfect I can't think about it too hard or I'll cry. I have everything I've ever wanted in an art studio and more. Every unfinished project I've ever had will meet it's messy end in this room. I'm so powerful in here I can feel it." 

"Oh I can definitely feel it too," Peter interjects. "The energy in this room is unparalleled. The music and incense is helping. There are chaotic artist vibes radiating all the way out to the elevator. It's how I found you so easily. I followed the genius vibe and it led me here." 

"To the promise land," MJ reiterates. 

Peter nods. "Milk and honey and—" He frowns at the half finished abstract watercolor to his left. "Watercolor airplanes?" he ventures. 

"Boats," she corrects. 

Peter nods sagely, turning back to her. "They're wonderful," he tries. She huffs out a little laugh and focuses back on the project in front of her. 

"What can we here in the promise land do for you today, Mr. Parker?" MJ's tone is light but her concentration doesn't waver. 

"Company," he replies honestly, even though it feels kinda dumb to admit out loud. 

MJ smirks up at him, hands still busy on the _ something _ in front of her. "You wanna come get your hands dirty?" 

Peter's smile grows 10 sizes in two seconds, mind immediately flashing to the constant smell of salene and cleaning solution that hugs every square inch of the infirmary he’s been living in. Everything pristine and perfectly polished which— to be fair— is absolutely what you want out of your place of medical treatment. But he's a city kid that spends his free time literally on the streets and he'd be lying if he tried to claim the cleancleanclean of his hospital room wasn't making him feel a little like patient zero. 

"Fuck. Yes." 

MJ matches his expression. "Go grab a smock and come here." 

Peter shoots her an impressed look. "You have multiple smocks?!"

"I have everything, Peter. Smocks, high quality paints, a mother fucking kiln," MJ lists, nearly manic with her excitement.

Peter whips around and looks at her, eyes wide. "A KILN?" 

"The. Promise. Land," MJ replies, accentuating each word with a clap. 

Peter is so in love with her he could die. 

He doesn't die, though. Instead he grabs the extra smock, sits in the little space in front of her on her bench and, with her arms reaching around his body and her chin resting on his shoulder, begins his very first attempt at _ pottery_. 

It's a mess. Somewhere in-between MJ asking if he wanted to get his hands messy and him actually getting them messy, she managed to move the piece she was working on, a large oddly shaped flower pot, and replaced it with a fresh untouched hunk of clay. She walks him through the basics of The medium, shows him how to wet his hands and shape it slowly. He's really bad at it. Comically so. But the feel of something malleable and dirty in his hands is good, so he keeps on. 

MJ is only half heartedly trying to show him how to improve, mostly just leaning forward to move his hands for him, like she doesn't trust him to execute her instructions properly. To be fair, Peter's pretty sure he could probably make a halfway decent bowl or something, but he's not exactly focused on that at the moment. He's way too preoccupied with the feel of MJ pressed up against his back, her careful hands over his, steady and concentrated breath fanning out over his front where her face is peaking over his shoulder, her MJ smell wrapped so tightly around him that any hope of focusing on anything else is far, far away. 

"You're good at this," he comments, dazedly. 

"You're not," she responds, laughing a little. "Are you even trying or are you just using this as an excuse to be wrapped up in my warm embrace?" 

His lips quirk into a smirk. "I don't need an excuse to be wrapped in your warm embrace." 

"And yet your usually very capable hands fail at even the most basic of my instructed tasks without mine there to guide them," she remarks suspiciously. 

Peter shrugs. "I prefer to defer to your superior skill." 

MJ snorts. "Kiss-ass. Fine, I will use your hands as my tools and together we will create a vase like the world has never seen." 

Peter stays quiet, watching as MJ busies herself with the task at literally both of their hands. She's focused now, more than she had been before. He can tell by her slowed down heartbeat, the way her hands move his with purpose and direction around the clay. They don't say much, MJ mutters quiet instructions that can't be communicated with her movements and Peter does his best to comply. Her music plays lowly in the background as she continues her work, moving on from Beyoncé to Rihanna, Kehlani, Lizzo, and SZA. He recognizes them all, wouldn't be able to call himself MJ's best friend if he didn't. He's sure she must be playing from her #BGM playlist which he's always loved, despite it being her go-to when she's upset. 

He pauses for a moment at that thought, looks around the room at the incense burning and thinks about the silk headscarf MJ is wearing, about how he'd walked in on her zeroed in on her flower pot. "Em?" He speaks quietly. "What happened?" 

Her focused movement don't stop. "What?" She asks, barely paying attention.

"What happened earlier today? Why are you trying to make yourself feel better?" 

At that, her hands do come to a stop. He can't see her, but he knows she's frowning. "What makes you think I'm trying to make myself feel better?" 

Peter shrugs, non-committal. He knows he's right but he doesn't want to be too confrontational. "You're listening to your BlackGirlMagic playlist, you're burning sage and dragon's blood, you're wearing your favorite headscarf, and you're elbow deep in an art project. I'm pretty sure that's upset MJ bingo," he responds. 

For a moment, it's quiet between them and Peter half expects MJ to deny it all, but then he hears her tired sigh. 

"This sucks," she mumbles out. 

"What sucks?" He asks gently.

"The mortifying ordeal of being known," she replies through a grumble. 

Peter smiles softly. "You don't have to tell me." 

He feels her shake her head. "It's just my parents," she starts. 

"Daniel or Claire?" 

MJ snorts. "Believe it or not both of them. They're in league on this one. Haven't managed to agree on anything since 86ing the condom, but for this they're two peas." 

Peter waits for her to continue but she doesn't, so he nudges her on. "This being?" 

"They don't want me to go to RISD. They don't want me to go to school for my art," she answers firmly, but he can hear the hurt in her tone. 

He sighs deeply. They'd known this was gonna be a problem. Claire has been obvious in her lack of indifference towards MJ's interest in art as anything but a hobby, and they've talked about what that might mean when it comes time for them to start applying to schools, but it's always been in the abstract, always felt so far off. Now that she's being faced with the reality of it, Peter isn't sure what to say. 

He ends up just nodding. "They just confronted you about it?" 

"No," MJ starts, huffing out another sigh. "Not exactly. I went into the city to have breakfast with my mom today and she started talking about all the different things I could do with my internship earnings. That's when RISD came up." 

"She doesn't want you to save your money for school?" He asks, confused. 

"She thinks I should go to Harvard or Yale or Columbia. She says it's stupid for me to waste my 'considerable intellect' and my money on trying to turn a hobby into a career. She and he who must not be named have spoken and they agree that I should spend the money on a better school and a more respectable major." MJ's voice is tight. 

Peter frowns. "Do you think there's anything in that?" He wants to make sure of where she's at before he says anything. 

"I mean, I know that I have the grades and test scores to get into those schools and to study something traditionally respected. But I don't want to go there. I don't want to study anything other than art. I love art. I never feel more connected to the universe than when I'm making art. I just want to learn as much as I can about it." The smallness of her voice makes Peter want to cry for her. But he settles for wiping his very messy hands on his smock and turning around to face her. 

"You should go to RISD," he says firmly. MJ just shakes her head and drops her gaze. "I'm serious, Michelle. Look at me." Her eyes find his. "Life is so short, crazy shit happens all the time. I got bit by a radio active spider and now I'm the only person in the world that can detect some of the most advanced weaponry it's ever seen. You can't waste any time arguing with yourself over what you should be. Just go be what you are. Go spend _ your _ money learning about what _ you _ love and fuck everyone else's opinion. Claire and Daniel will figure out how to still love you." 

MJ just looks at him for a couple of seconds, eyes shining. She takes a deep shuddering breath and then speaks. "I know you're right it's just. If I do this, they won't help me. They'll get over it eventually, but I'll just have to go on in the meantime. And I—" she pauses to sniffle, wiping her hands on her smock so she can catch a tear with her wrist. "I just don't think I can do it alone." 

Peter looks at her sideways for a second, because she can't actually be serious. "MJ I don't know how long you'll have to move forward without the support of your parents, but I promise you that you will literally _ never _have to do anything alone ever again. Not if I'm still around." 

She smiles up at him, another tear sliding down her cheek. There is a beat that passes with his determined look baring into her face, and she holds his stare. And then, suddenly, she starts laughing. Like loud cackles and breathless gasps type laughing. Like so hearty that Peter's having a hard time not laughing _ at _ her type laughing. 

"What's so funny?" He asks, still not entirely sure why he's giggling. 

"I'm just—" She breathes a heavy cackle, shaking her head. "I'm just so in love with you it's ridiculous." 

Peter freezes, looking at her. He's not sure if he heard her right. "What?" He says, trying to keep the shock out of his tone. MJ takes one look at his expression and laughs harder. 

"I am so in love with you, it is legitimately stupid," she asserts plainly. "I am so in love with you that I've been doodling your name all over my sketchbooks and dreaming about your laugh. Like, before I thought 'okay, this is a crush. You have a crush on Peter because he is objectively nice looking and sweet.' And I kept trying to stop having a crush on you. I kept doing things to distract myself or ruin our friendship, like dating Brad or fighting with you over my, admittedly valid, criticisms of Spider-Man. But you just kept being better and better. You're so good. You're the best person I've ever met, and not in a perfect kind of way, but in a you genuinely care about working on bettering yourself kind of way. You genuinely care about like...everything, including _ me_. You care about me so much, you always advocate for my best interest, even when it goes directly against yours. I have spent the entirety of the last year trying to stop feeling this way but I can't. I don't even know what to do with myself, I am so in love with you." 

Peter's eyes could not be any bigger if he tried. By the time she stops talking, he's sure he's wearing the stupidest expression he's ever worn, but he can't wipe it away. Everything is still around him and he swears he can hear every sound that's happening inside his body all at once. He swallows, trying to nail down a single thought in the chaos of his brain. "I didn't kiss you," he says when he finally finds his voice and _ fuck _ okay he didn't mean to start _ there_. He shakes his head quickly. "I mean— when I thought I was gonna die, I thought about everyone that I love. And when my brain landed on you I thought about everything, Em. All of it. Every moment I got to spend with you. I literally passed out thinking about how I should have kissed you when we were dancing at Tony and Pepper's wedding. I think saying i'm in love with you too might be an understatement at this point," he says heavily. His brain is moving a mile a minute trying to process everything that he's heard and everything he's saying. MJ laughs again from above him. 

"Oh my god," she cackles. "Of all the absolute bullshit things that have happened to me, this one takes the cake." She looks a Peter and offers the biggest eye roll in the world. "Let me guess: you didn't want to burden me with the dangers of dating Spider-Man and you didn't want to ruin our friendship." Peter smiles back, almost laughing as he nods. "Great!" She says in a tired tone. "Even your reasons for not telling me are Noble and Kind™️. I'm exhausted of you." 

Peter actually does laugh at that. "Well why didn't _ you _ tell _ me _ you were in love?" He asks incredulously. 

"You're the best friend I've ever had, I didn't want to mess that up just because I was in love!" She shouts, defensively. 

Peter just smiles brightly at her, soaking up all of the relief and happiness that's washing over him at their mutual confessions. "You really fell in love with me because I'm a good person?" He asks. He's still not entirely sure this is real. 

MJ just purses her lips and nods her head. "I know. A body like that and my dumbass falls for your generous soul." She rolls her eyes. 

Peter doesn't have the wherewithal to unpack that. "I think we should kiss," he purposes because frankly that's the only thought he can manage to articulate and he figures he's waited long enough. 

"I concur," she says, a little awkward as she leans forward, looking down at her hands. "I would go for the big romantic face-grab but—" she lifts her still messy hands. 

Peter bites his lip nervously. "I don't care if you get clay on my face," he mumbles out, voice so quiet that he's almost not sure he's said it. MJ looks momentarily surprised before apparently smashing the 'fuck it' button, leaning forward, grabbing his face and bringing her lips to his. 

Peter's breath hitches, surprised by the suddenness of her movements. Her hands are firm resting on either side of his face. The press of their lips together is soft and determined and it takes Peter the full seven seconds that she keeps her mouth against his to fully register the breathtaking importance of the moment he's in. She starts to pull away but he follows her, bringing his own hand up to cover hers on his face, making his intention to keep kissing her very clear by returning his mouth to hers with vigor that she reciprocates in equal measure. 

Unlike most of his experience with kissing, Peter feels like the two of them aren't using kissing as a vehicle to get to something else. The kissing is the destination for them, it's what they apparently both have been waiting for, and even though he knows that it's a little bit messy, every second that passes with their lips locked together only makes him feel more sure of what he's doing. 

MJ kisses the way she does everything: with precision and intensity. She tastes like coffee and she smells like her cocoanut lime face lotion and every single neuron in Peter's brain is, for once, focused only on one thing. Her. It's awesome. Like genuinely awe inspiring as he moves his body in closer to hers and she matches his movement by swiping her tongue against his lip. 

They get lost like that for a while, open mouths pressed together and hands gripping faces until they finally have to come up or air. They lean back just enough that their lips aren't touching and Peter can feel the little huffs of MJ's breath on his cheek as she tries to catch her breath. He licks his lips and realizes that her shimmery mint chapstick that he loves on her is now all over his mouth. He grins, eyes locking with hers a few inches away.

"Em we just like...made out," he giggles out. "Like you totally just made out with me." 

MJ rolls her eyes . "Is that like...okay? Like are you okay with us making out more often?" She asks, tentative but smiling. 

Peter snorts. "I am okay with us making out for the rest of time," he assures her. 

Her smile widens. "Good. Me too," she says as she presses her mouth against his again. They kiss for another few minutes before she speaks again, not bothering to pull her mouth away, just moving it against his with her words. "You kiss exactly like I knew you would." 

Peter laughs at that, replying in kind. "How's that?" He asks against the corner of her mouth. 

"Like." She kisses him once more firmly and then pulls back. "You just let me take the lead until you knew what the vibe was and then you matched it. That's classic you." 

Peter looks at her a little unsure. "Is that a good thing?" He asks. 

MJ leans in and presses two more kisses to his lips and one to his cheek. "The best thing," she informs him quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. "It's my favorite thing." 

"Oh my god," Peter breathes out, eyes fluttering closed and goosebumps crawling down his arms as MJ presses a soft kiss against his neck. She leans back to look at him. 

"Too much?" She arches an eyebrow at him. 

Peter swallows and opens his eyes. "No, not at all. I'm just..." He tries to think of a way to say it that isn't suggestive. He doesn't want to make it weird. "Sensitive? Because of the bite. I just got goodbumbs" he explains. 

MJ looks at him surprised. "Because I did this?" She leans forward and kisses his neck again. 

Peter lets out a little involuntary sound and nods quickly. "Yup. That— that was the culprit," he confirms, goosebumps doubling up all over his body. 

MJ's eyes fall shut as she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "That seems like a can of worms I'm gonna thoroughly enjoy prying open sometime in the near future," she informs him, clearly trying to keep herself composed. 

He laughs. "I adore you," he says plainly. 

She nods heartily. "The feeling is mutual." 

He can't help the fluttering he feels in his chest at her words. "So like...how do you feel about labels?" He asks after a moment. 

MJ smiles. "You can call me your girlfriend if you want," she replies. She knows him well enough to know that's what he's actually asking. "I'm fine with us using all the usual labels." 

Peter wiggles excitedly. "You are?" 

She laughs at him and rolls her eyes again. "Of course, dork. And we can tell everyone whenever you want. I don't care. Everyone already knows I'm in love with you anyway." She shrugs. 

"I'm hiring a skywriter," Peter declares, his excitement fueling his movements as he leans in to kiss MJ again. Because, you know, he _ can. _

"Seriously though," he tries to pull himself back a couple minutes later. "This is wild and I am thrilled at where this conversation has gone, but are you okay? I know if you were doing all of this—" he gestures to the headscarf and then over to the incense. "—you must have been feeling pretty shitty." 

MJ sighs. "Yeah. I was. I...am." She looks at him softly for a moment, pushing in closer so that her cross crossed legs are flush against his thighs where he's straddling the bench they're sharing. If they were any closer she would be in his lap. "You're helping, though. You..." She shrugs a little embarrassed. "You always help." 

Peter feels giddy. He looks at MJ with a thankful smile and says with his arms around her body what he could never find the right words for with his mouth. That he's glad to help. That he always wants to. That he loves her and he's sorry that her parents are being jerks about this. They stay like that for a few minutes until eventually Peter moves his hand a little and realizes that he's left a faded hand print of clay behind. 

"Oh," he breathes out, pulling back again. He looks down at his messy hands and then at MJ's hands and he purses his lips. "Do you wanna keep making this—" he glanced at the deformed chunk of drying clay they'd abandoned. "Uh, vase?" He asks.

"Oh yeah," MJ says, looking over to the clay as well. "Yeah we should probably do something with it before it dries out," she replies. She looks back at him. "I think maybe me being pressed up against you was, uh, _ distracting _ you a little bit? To be honest it was kinda hard for me to focus too. You have a very muscular back.” She pauses and looks him over before seeming to come back to herself. “Anyway, maybe you should go wash up and just sit with me while I shape it." 

Peter nods, pursing his lips. "Right. Yeah that's— a good...call," he says trailing off as he turns to find a sink. His eyes catch on one a couple feet behind him and he gets up to stumble awkwardly towards it, mind still enveloped by the barrage of MJ that has overwhelmed his senses for the past 30 minutes. 

He steps up to the sink and flicks it on dazedly, lathering up his skin with the grapefruit lemon soap scrub that MJ's put by the faucet, and watches the clay uncling from his skin and slide down the drain in waves. 

"Can you bring me my coffee when you're done? I think I left it on the counter over there," Peter hears MJ call to him as he scrubs his face and neck with his palms. 

"Sure," he calls back, reaching for one of the many many cloths stacked in the cardboard box to his left. He pats himself dry, blinking a few times against the light as it comes back into focus, shifting his gaze to land on the bright blue disposable coffee cup to his left. Anxiety shoots through him like fire at the sight of it, stomach contracting in warning, body tensing on the spot. His brain snaps into high gear immediately. 

Sometimes, usually when Peter has been cramming for a test or watching a movie with a really complicated plot, his brain sort of shorts out for a second. Like, he'll see a key word in a test question or get hit with a particularly well executed snippet of foreshadowing and his brain makes so many connections at once, works so quickly to provide him with his mental file of things he's stored that relate to what he's seeing, that his brain just sputters to a full stop and then boom. The smoke clears and he experiences full and complete clarity. He knows how the movie will end. He's sure what the answer to the question is. 

That afternoon in MJ's brand new art studio, Peter Parker experiences full and complete clarity. It is so sudden that he actually feels out of breath when it hits him. He has to work his mind backwards through his thought process to fully understand what his gut, his intuition, his _ mind _ is telling him. 

"Em—" he says lowly. She doesn't respond. He looks over to her and to see that she's once again focused on the hunk of clay in front of her. "MJ," he says louder this time. Her head snaps up to his, no doubt caught off guard by the unfamiliar use of her normal nickname and not his _ Peter _ nickname. 

"What's wrong?" She asks, frowning. 

He frowns too. "I—" He swallows, trying to create a straight line with his thoughts. "I think I know who did the attack on Elmhurst," he says, voice careful. 

MJ blinks. "What?" 

"I think I just..." He frowns deeper, mind racing backwards through time. "Figured out who did the attack on Elmhurst." 

MJ gapes at him. "What the fuck. Just now? How?" She sputters out, back straightening as she turns her body towards him again. 

Peter grabs the bright blue cup and holds it up. "Cream & Sugar," he says, pointing to it. 

MJ looks at it and then back to him. "Yeah...?" 

He shakes his head, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "You know how when you walk into any Cream & Sugar they have a bulletin board with, like, advertisements for community groups and what not?" He pauses for her confirmation. She nods. "Well most of the time the stuff on the bulletin boards changes from location to location, which makes sense since they're in different neighborhoods. But there's one advertisement that is always the same at every location I've been to." 

MJ furrows her eyebrows further, looking away like she's trying to conjure a memory. "Oh yeah...that one Latin one...I can't remember it's name but it's always in every Cream & Sugar." She looks at him with her face still screwed up in concentration. "I remember looking up at it during one of my visits to the one in Corona during Thanksgiving week last year and wondering what kind of a group it is..." 

"It figures that you noticed it too..." He trails off, mind still processing the backwards trajectory of his thoughts. "I think I should call Tony right now..." He finally manages to say. 

MJ looks at him with clear concern before taking charge. "Friday is Tony in the building?" 

Friday's voice sounds from her nearest speaker. "Mr. Stark is currently in his workshop on the 3rd floor. Would you like me to alert him that you and Mr. Parker would like a conference?" 

"Yeah. Can you ask him to come to the art studio right away?" Her eyes flick over to Peter's. "It's an emergency," she says firmly. Friday confirms and the room falls quiet for all of 30 seconds before Tony's voice sounds through the speaker. 

"MJ what's going on?" His voice is tense but not panicky. 

MJ opens her mouth to answer but Peter beats her to it. "Tony I think I've figured out who attacked Elmhurst." 

A beat passes. "You _ what _?" He asks, clearly shocked. 

"I'll explain when you get here," Peter replies frustrated. 

Tony sighs. "Fine. I'm on my way now." 

Two minutes later Tony comes bounding into the studio, looking concerned and confused. "Walk me through what's going on," he says plainly looking from MJ who's at the sink washing her hands to Peter who is pacing up and down the room. 

"Omne Trium Perfectum," Peter blurts out. Tony and MJ just stare at him. "The beginning, right. I'm sorry." He stops pacing and sits down in the nearest chair. "There's this weird advertisement that's on every bulletin board in every Cream & Sugar I've ever been to. It never changes. It's a red piece of paper with a white circle that obscures most of the page and the words 'Omne Trium Perfectum' typed across the center of it," he starts. 

"All things are perfect in threes..." Tony translates out loud, tone clearly still confused. 

"Exactly. Cryptic, right? I don't remember ever seeing any dates or times or any other information on the flyer that would indicate it's some sort of group, but I never really thought about how weird that is. Well, at least not consciously. But then I made a weird connection." Peter looks at them both to make sure they're following and then continues, eyes landing on Tony. "I remember the day of your wedding I went looking for Pep to give her your gift and I got lost on the way there. I ended up near the ballrooms and, as I was passing, I saw that one was labeled 'Omne Trium Perfectum' which I remembered bc I _ knew _ I'd seen it somewhere before. The thing is, I _ had _seen it somewhere, and not just in Cream & Sugar.” He turns to MJ. “You and I both have.” 

MJ looks surprised. “I have?” 

Peter nods adamantly. “Well, maybe not, but you should have if you did all of the practice exams in the SAT Prep kit we bought in November. It shows up in one of the short stories. One of those really weird ones that literally make no sense and is unnecessarily creepy under the guise of being good literature. I don’t remember the name of the story because who even reads the names of those stories, but I do remember that it was about King who was fighting with a neighboring land and he believed that he could only defeat his enemy in the 3rd week of the month.” 

Across from where he’s sitting, Peter sees the light bulb flick on above MJ's head, her eyes wide and mouth falling open. "Oh my god..." She looks at him. “I remember this story...it ended up in the very first practice exam I did. The king was very superstitious and very particular. He would only fight battles in the 3rd week of the month and he would keep his prisoners for 3 months before beheading them.” Her brow is furrowed in thought, trying to remember more of the story. 

Peter could scream, he is so relieved to finally be understood, at least in part. “Yes! And the prison was called ‘Omne Trium Perfectum,’” he says fervently, looking from MJ to Tony. MJ, to her credit, still looks to be thinking hard, the new information doing nothing to stop her attempt to locate her own memory of the phrase. Tony looks confused. 

“Okay, that is a weird connection, but Pete, what does that have to do with Elmhurst?” He asks carefully. He looks like he doesn't want to hurt Peter’s feelings but also like he’s highly suspicious of everything that he’s saying. Peter doesn't mind though, because he knows he’s right about this one. 

He opens his mouth to answer and out of nowhere MJ sucks in a sharp breath. Both heads snap towards her only for her to turn her huge eyes back to them. “His servants!” She snaps her fingers together, obviously trying to bring it to the front of her mind. “His henchmen! They’re called ‘The Three Knights!’”

Peter lets out a triumphant “Yes!” At the same time that Tony breathes out an “Oh my god.” 

“And that’s not it, Tony. The dates! The dates of all of their attacks are multiples of three! It’s just like the story! And I knew it! My brain knew it was gonna happen and I could sense the bomb!” Peter is practically shouting with his eagerness, the weight of not knowing lifting off of him after _ so _ long.

Tony’s expression is less doubtful and more just generally shocked. He looks at Peter with a frown. “The three knights have only had one demonstration, though. What am I missing?”

“So the first attack was the demonstration, that happened on— Friday help me out here, I wanna make sure I've got the right date,” Peter addresses the ceiling. 

“The first and only demonstration by the alt-right organization ‘The Three Knights’ took place in the late evening of the 25th of August last year,” The AI answers. 

Peter looks back at Tony. “8+2+5. Multiple of three. That's one,” he says plainly. He redirects to Friday. “And the day that the Wakandan research facility was robbed? What day was that?” 

Tony nearly chokes. “What?” 

“It was the 21st of March. The day of Tony and Pepper’s wedding. They were probably there to spy on the King and Queen. They probably rented a ballroom for the sole purpose of keeping watch on them,” MJ interjects helpfully. 

“_ What?!” _Tony pinches his brow and holds up a hand. “Okay.” He breathes a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “We’ll get into how the two of you know top secret Wakandan Intelligence later, right now let's focus on what's in front of us. March 21st. That day is also a multiple of 3. And then of course, the attack on Elmhurst was on June 21st, which follows suit.” 

“And if The Three Knights are behind the robbery at the research facility, that means they would definitely have the materials needed to create a very powerful, almost undetectable bomb,” Peter asserts. 

Tony nods, eyes unfocused in thought. “Yeah…” He seems to decide on something before looking back up at Peter. “There are still some things I don't understand, though. For one, the last time I checked, The Three Knights were a non-violent group whose manifesto clearly outlines their intent to systematically regain control of the country through the public and private sector. That is a far cry from breaking into one of the most secure facilities in the country and stealing materials that maybe 10 people in the entire world could turn into a weapon, let alone one of the caliber that was used in Elmhurst. So what’s missing here? What changed?” Tony says, and it seems like he’s thinking out loud more than anything. He’s right. Peter knows he’s right. There are things _ Peter _ doesn’t understand about it all that would likely be beneficial to know if they’re going to bring this information to the government or something. The missing pieces to the puzzle do not do anything to assuage how _ sure _Peter is that The Three Knights are the ones who attacked Elmhurst, but he understands that those without a spidey sense might need a clearer picture. 

“They made friends,” MJ murmurs loudly. 

Peter turns to her again and she nods to herself in thought. “They made friends after their little show in August. I remember reading about it. Their membership went up by the thousands after their demonstration, so much so that they were able to cut ties with that real estate guy who was their original funder and sustain their organization’s costs with only the monthly membership dues. There was a whole spread about it in the New York Times.” She glances up at Peter and then moves her gaze over to Tony, standing from where she’d been leaning against the wall to start pacing with her thoughts. It’s a habit she has that Peter recognizes from Acadec practice and finals week. “Walk with me on this one,” she starts, crossing her arms as she paces. “They get some attention from the press, start gaining a bunch of new members, probably a good few who don't necessarily agree with their non-violent methods, and maybe they also catch the eye of other people from other countries. Powerful people. People with a lot more skill and capital than a bunch of middle aged white guys from fuck-all nowhere America. Suddenly they've got opportunities to make a bunch of money and a whole bunch of very fired up members.” She looks at the other to like she's waiting for their input. Tony speaks before Peter has the chance to.

“Okay, I can buy that scenario, but say that they do. What's the motive? What's the target? Why would someone abroad want to bomb _ Elmhurst _? Why would they work with a nothing group of alt-right extremists from America?” He questions, curiously, not altogether dismissing the possibility, just pointing out the holes in the theory. This is a method Tony often employs when he and Peter are working together in the lab or the workshop. He never says outright that Peter is wrong, he just makes Peter fill in as many gaps as possible before agreeing with his hypothesis, which has generally made Peter a better scientist and a better student. 

It’s his habit to answer Tony’s questioning in situations like this, which is why Peter jumps in to answer before MJ can, as soon as he finally picks up on the train of thought she’s let them in on. “Wakanda. Wakandan tech,” he shouts. MJ points at him with a triumphant expression. “That's the target. That's what it has to be. King T’challa said it the day of the robbery. Wakanda itself is untouchable, but their embassies and research centers in other countries aren't as safe. It would take Wakandan technology and weaponry to ever win against Wakanda. So if someone wanted to get their hands on that, it would make sense for them to Target their facilities that are in other countries.”

MJ smiles. “And America offered up a whole group of idiots parading around on the news screaming about how angry they are that brown people are taking over the world. They were just begging to do all the work for some bigger, more powerful enemy of Wakanda. And you couldn’t make up a better fall guy if you tried.” She shakes her head.

Tony gives it another moment of consideration and nods his head. “That’s a pretty plausible theory. One that is probably correct, at least in part. My biggest concern at the moment is that, if it is correct, then the attack on Elmhurst was probably just a test. A test of the weaponry, a test of the reaction, a test of how easily it can be tied back to the real perpetrators. Thus far, they’ve gotten great results on the reaction and the ability of the powers that be to discover who actually did it. The only reason, I'm sure, that they haven’t carried out a bigger attack is that their weaponry proved not to be as infallible as they thought it would be. Pete, you could sense it, and they didn’t plan on that. You probably fucked up their entire plan,” Tony says plainly, and then he looks at the two others soberly. “Let’s go fuck it up even more.” 

In the end, what happens is a lot more nuanced and complicated than just simply “fucking up” the entire long-winded plan of an international terrorist organization but, well— fuck it up they nevertheless do. 

The day moves in sort of a dazy daydream that only ever feels real to Peter when people start to say things like “testify before congress” and “interviewed by the CIA.” He’s not sure he’ll actually have to do those things, but he genuinely hopes not. Tony’s been pretty good at keeping Spider-Man out of the reach of the federal government via nearly constant re-writing of the Sokovia Accords, but then again, Peter has— up until very recently— been very good at not drawing the attention of the federal government. Whatever happens, he is pretty positive he’s in the clear of any wrongdoing, so he’s not sure it would matter much anyway.

The good news is: they’re right. 

Well, _ almost _ completely right. The Three Knights are in fact the group behind the security breach at the Wakandan research facility, they are the ones who carried out the attack on Elmhurst, and they had been recruited to do those things by a bigger, more powerful entity with a very big grudge against Wakanda and King T’Challa. 

The bad news is: the majority of the operation was orchestrated by a small group of Wakandan rebels who strongly oppose Wakanda’s new international policies. King T’Challa was literally able to trace the communication between the groups back to each of their locations within the 45 minutes it takes Peter and Tony to explain their theory. From there the plan is uncovered and the aforementioned fucking up is thouroghly carried out. But it was a deviating blow for King T’Challa who was under the impression that he had the support of his nation when he made his decision to go public. 

The plan was simple. The Wakandan rebels were to use proxy organizations with grudges against the Wakandan nation for one reason or another, to carry out a series of attacks on Wakandan facilities that are out of the country, i.e. embassies, science labs, cultural community centers, or anything they could get to, really. They theorized that the attacks would force the royal family into adopting an isolationist government once again which would make their country, more specifically, their country’s _ wealth and resources _, safer. 

The Wakandan rebels had no idea that The Three Knights based their organization off of the folklore of a late nineteenth century gothic short story or that they’d been following a discernible pattern when planning their attacks. They simply saw a group that could provide a service they required and did business with them. The irony of an alt-right white sepremicist organization teaming up with a far-right pro-isolationist african rebel group was, apparently, completely lost on both parties. 

The sad thing is, it took less than two hours for the powers that be on both ends to find these groups and tie their success to the other’s involvement. They were both ready to fold like a bad hand and throw the other under the bus, with receipts. It was the kind of bust that would be embarrassing for them if they hadn’t done an extraordinarily good job at hiding themselves up until that point. 

Peter is hailed as a hero again among the small group of people that know he’s Spider-Man. Tony takes a long few minutes to tell Peter how proud of him he is and how lucky he feels to be working with him, as always. May is mostly confused and scared that he’s involved in taking down an international terrorist operation, but her fears aren’t enough to let him go even one minute thinking she isn’t immensely proud that he’s helped solve this mystery. Pepper doesn’t fuss over him. She’s not one to fuss, especially not when there are lawyers to be contacted and people to intimidate into leaving Peter’s name out of press releases, but she does make it a point to poke her head into Peter’s hospital room in between meetings to tell him she loves him and that the Avengers are lucky he’s one of theirs. Peter says the same thing to them all: he didn’t figure it all out on his own. 

The nice thing about this particular round of claps on the back he's been getting is that MJ has been CC’d on all the praise. Tony tells literally _ everyone _ he speaks to about it how instrumental she’d been in working out what happened. Everyone is at least as impressed with her analysis of the information as they are with Peter having provided it, which as far as Peter is concerned is _ always _ the case whenever he’s being celebrated for his heroism. MJ handles the attention, not just from the parents but also from King T’Challa, the other Avengers who were called in to perform the raid on The Three Knights’ headquarters, and eventually the CIA agent that comes to talk to them, like a champ. Right up until she and Peter have a moment alone together and then she cries for about 10 minutes on his shoulder because, well, she is just very overwhelmed by it all. 

For his part, Peter is just glad it’s over. The stress of the attack coupled with the ongoing weight of not knowing who did it and why was _ maybe _ eating him up a bit more than he let on to anyone other than Ale. Now that it’s over and the truth is out there, he feels sick to his stomach at the thought that the single most traumatic thing he’s ever lived through was a literal throw-away test of the kind of power those idiots were fucking around with. The thought does absolutely nothing to quash his conviction that there is nothing more important he could be spending his time doing than trying his best to protect the world from threats like that. Well, except maybe making-out with MJ but his priorities might be a bit warped. All he knows for sure is that he loves being Spider-Man, loves knowing that his job is helping the people in his community live better lives with less fear and more love, and that, more than anything else, the best way to help others is by surrounding himself with people that love _ him _, which is sappy as shit but also happens to be true. 

Looking over at where MJ is curled up next to him, half sitting, half lying down as she lets out little huffs of breath against his shoulder in her sleep, Peter has to admit, he’s pretty inclined towards the sappy. 

\-----

**Epilogue**

**June 7th, 9:28am.**

**_10 months later_.**

  
  


_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : Babe where are you? It starts in like 30 minutes. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : I'm not trying to be a pest but I feel like we made a deal a while back that if you went off Spider-Manning you wouldn't do it without telling me. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : Also I really don't want you to miss my speech. _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : or you know, YOUR speech _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : Peter? _

_ MJ _ 👩🏽📚🔪 _ : I hope you’re getting your ass kicked rn _

“Pete that’s your sixth message from MJ, do you want me to respond explaining your current situation?” Karen sounds in his mask, annoyingly calm considering everything that’s happening. 

Peter punches the man in front of him hard in the face, ducking down to swipe a kick into his legs so he tumbles over, and then webs him to the ground before turning to the three guys in the back of the jewelry store. 

“Uh,” Peter says, not taking even a moment to catch his breath. “Sure, but be vague about it.” He webs the bench that’s resting against the back wall of the store and tugs it forward, helpfully hitting one of the men currently aiming an assault rifle at him. He dodges out of the way of bullets. “I don’t want her to wonder why I’m in the jewelry store,” he adds. 

“Understandable. What would you like me to say instead?” Karen asks, apparently indifferent to the bullet that Peter _ just _missed. 

“I don’t know!” Peter shouts as he runs towards the two men and then drops onto his knees to slide between them, webbing both men on the opposite shoulder and pulling them into a collision as he slides to a stop. “Just...tell her an unexpected Spider-related emergency came up and I'm handling it.” Peter grabs the two guns in either hand and crushes them in an iron grip. “Besides, I’ve got time, right?” 

“You have 10 minutes until the ceremony starts,” Karen informs him. 

“10 minutes?! Shit, really?” Peter huffs out a frustrated breath, reading two more heat signatures entering the building with guns raised.

“I’m afraid so, Pete.” Karen’s voice is falsely apologetic. 

He sighs, turning towards the door as the two men approach it. “Gentlemen, can I help you with something? Looking for something nice to give the missus?” He teases in the millisecond before they start firing at him. Peter swings up out the way crawling over their heads. “A necklace? Or maybe a nice broach?” His punctuates each suggestion with a shot of taser webbing down their backs until the two men drop onto a heap on the floor. “Sorry guys, I'd really love to draw this out but I’ve got an appointment uptown that I’ve really gotta keep.” 

“No more hostile heat signatures on the block, Pete. Looks like this was the last of them,” Karen chimes in again.

“Good,” Peter breathes out, peeking up at the clock that’s still somehow hanging on the wall. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? Display web pattern to Midtown High please.”

“Awe! This is going to be your last hasty swing to school at Midtown! How does it feel?” Karen comments in a teasing tone. 

The thing is, Peter is pretty in his feelings about the whole thing, so it’s exactly the kind of thing that _ would _choke him up. He doesn’t give into it. “I feel excited to be starting a new adventure,” he says firmly. 

He makes it to the ceremony only ten minutes late, which isn’t even all that much of a big deal, because the graduates haven’t even walked out yet, so he won’t have to deal with Team Parents throwing a fit over losing the chance to take his picture. He scrambles quickly into the classroom all of the other graduating seniors are crammed into, getting ready to line up and walk. 

“Oh thank god,” MJ says, looking up from her handheld mirror with an expression that’s half relief, half frustration.

Ned is beside her, looking entirely too pleased in his cap and gown. He grins at Peter. “Knew you’d make it back in time!” he says cheerfully. He walks over to Peter and starts their handshake. “You just won me $10!” 

Peter frowns at MJ. “You bet against me?” He asks like it’s a rare occurrence instead of a pattern. Ned snickers and disappears into the mess of classmates behind them. 

MJ shrugs. “I really thought you were gonna miss it.” 

Peter breathes out a little laugh. “And miss the opportunity to finally hear your speech? I would _ never.” _He walks over to her and pulls her into a hug. “Happy graduation day!” he says softly. 

MJ’s face is mostly just relieved when she pulls away. “Happy graduation day, dork,” she replies, fondly, bringing a hand up to his face. “You look good,” she comments casually. “Do you have concealer under your eyes?” Peter nods. She smiles, fingers ghosting over the concealed eye bags. “Gotta look pretty for all the pictures your parents are gonna force you to take,” she teases him. 

He smiles sweetly. “It’s hilarious that you think you’ll be able to escape their obsessive need to document this. They’re gonna make us pose together and apart and with the whole family and probably with yours too. They’ll be insufferable and also quite insistent that Madame Valedictorian have her moment to shine.” 

MJ groans. “Is it not enough that I have to deal with my mom _ and _he who shall not be named? Must I be subjected to the love and pride of your bazillian parents?” 

“I have three parents,” Peter corrects. 

“Four if you count Rhodey,” MJ counters. 

Peter squints. “Are we counting Rhodey?” 

“Peter the man chaperoned our Prom,” MJ says exasperatedly. 

Peter makes a face. “Fine. Four. Still not a bazillion,” he insists. 

“Their love and pride makes it _ feel _ like it’s a bazillion,” MJ whines. 

Peter sticks out a big lip. “Suck it up, buttercup. They love you and are very proud of you. _ I love you and am very proud of you _. Have I told you that yet?” 

A smile peaks through MJ’s usual indifferent facade. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

Peter nods once, soft smile working its way onto his own face as he leans forward. “Well I am. Super proud. Insanely proud.” He kisses her. “The kind of proud you can’t even put words to,” he mumbles against her mouth. The sounds of mimicked puking starts up from the crowd beside them and Peter breaks away, leaning back to smile at his classmates. He turns back to MJ who is blushing slightly, partly because of the teasing, but also, Peter knows from nearly a year of dating her, because she likes it when he's overly verbose about his love for her. It good because Peter can't seem to ever shut up about it. Except, like right now, when words just _ fail _ at conveying it all. 

“I don’t have words, but I do have this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little velvet jewelry box.

“Peter I’ve told you before, I’m not marrying you until Tony and Pepper leave you all their money,” MJ jokes, eyeing the box. 

“Haha,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a ring. It’s something better than a ring,” he assures her. He opens the box to reveal a gold chain with a small paint pallet-shaped pendant hanging on it. MJ looks at it for a moment and then back up a Peter, eyes watery. Peter smiles. “I feel like it represents everything I love most about you,” he says confidently. “It’s a symbol of your fierce independence and brilliant creativity. A reminder that you, Michelle Jones, are a force to be reckoned with and that I, Peter Parker, _ thoroughly _ enjoy reckoning you. Even when it means that you beat me out for valedictorian.” He flips it over so she can see the inscription on the back which reads “ _ always my #1 — P.P. _” 

MJ breathes out a soft giggle, bringing a hand up to wipe away a tear from her eye. She looks up at him. “You’re perfect.” 

“Only at loving you,” he says quietly, through a grin. 

“I’m begging you two to get a room,” Flash shouts, lost in the crowd of busy students and everyone murmurs a collective sound of agreement, though Peter knows it's mostly fond. He and MJ were voted most likely to stay together in their yearbook. 

God he hopes so. 

Somewhere on the other side of the room a teacher calls for everyone to take their places in the line and the room erupts into a nervous excited energy. Peter glances around and then brings his gaze back to MJ. “You ready for your speech, madam Valedictorian?” He asks her. 

She smiles. “Yup. You ready for yours, Mr. Salutatorian?” Peter rolls his eyes at the title but nods firmly.

Pomp and Circumstance starts blaring from the speakers in the auditorium and the line of students starts moving forward. Peter and MJ walk over to the rest of the students, hanging around the back as previously instructed, so they can walk on stage to sit with the principal and faculty. 

The ceremony goes about as smoothly as could be expected up until he gets up to give his speech, which is when his family decides to make a frankly unreasonable amount of noise cheering him on, and the entire audience, which is always a bit excitable anytime Tony and Pepper show up to one of his school things, bubbles in laughter. It’s sweet and horrifying. So, sort of their family’s whole brand. 

Peter’s speech goes off without a hitch. The audience laughs at the right places and cheers at all the graduation buzz words he’s slipped in, and in the end, they all clap and smile, which makes Peter feel nice. He turns to walk towards his seat right as MJ gets up to take the mic, her introduction sounding over the speakers behind him, applause starting and getting louder as the announcer reads out her list of accomplishments, chief among them her recent acceptance into RISD with a full scholarship. As expected, his family cheers loudest among the entire audience, and he hopes that somewhere in the auditorium, Claire and Daniel are clapping too. 

Peter reaches to give her hand an encouraging squeeze as he passes but MJ has other plans. With a glint of something wild in her eyes, the same wild that got them into the dancefloor at Tony and Pepper’s wedding, she pulls him forward so they’re chest to chest. She doesn't wait for him to respond, just brings her hand up to his face, smiles tenderly at him, and then leans in to press a firm kiss against his lips. 

The already loud audience goes crazy. Their classmates wolf whistle in their seats and the announcer stumbles over her words briefly before just concluding the whole thing with a hasty “please welcome this year's Valedictorian, Ms. Michelle Jones.” The noise lasts as long as it takes MJ and Peter to walk to their respectives spots and then some. Finally it dies out and MJ leans forward to start her speech. 

Peter was right. The parents demand an entire photoshoot with him, MJ, Ned, and some of the rest of their classmates as they wander over to give them hugs and congratulate them on their speeches. Their camera happy antics last well into the afternoon at their joint graduation party, which is really just the combination of all three families in the party room of an upscale restaurant. Peter’s main defence against unwanted conversation and pictures is fussing over Morgan, which usually does a pretty good job at distracting people from him, but not always. Not today. He nevertheless ends up spending most of his afternoon with his arms full of a wiggly, blue overall-clad 3 month old, which is a real hardship for him. 

The photos come out nice when he looks over them in bed that night though. The album is packed full with shots of Peter smiling in his cap and gown, MJ making silly faces over his shoulder where she’s latched onto his back, he and Ned doing their handshake, Peter with every combination of his parents there could possibly be, some candids of Peter holding morgan as she tries to eat a corner of his cap which he resolves to print and frame for his dorm, and of course, several with the whole family. 

It takes Peter a moment, as he looks through them all, to realize that he’s ending high school with about 3000% more family members than he’d had walking into it. The thought makes him want to cry, something that he’s spent the majority of the day actively avoiding, and he thinks he’s got a handle on himself right up until he swipes over his screen to see a picture MJ’s added to the album at the very end. It’s one of him from that morning, still clad in his dorky Star Wars pajamas, sitting at the breakfast table of the Manhattan place, surrounded by his family as they all talk and get ready. Morgan is sitting on the table in front of him, like she somehow always seems to be. MJ's captioned it “A dork and his family: a study in love.” He does cry then. Just a little. He lets himself feel it all, be sad that soon, this part of his life will be over and he’ll be going away to college, hours away from Tony’s wordless understanding, Pepper’s sound advice, May’s warm hugs, and maybe most jarringly, the rest of Morgan’s first year, which he’s enjoyed getting to watch more than he could have ever known he would. He tries to remember the advice of Ale, which is to feel all things fully, but not let his fear that it'll all slip away take away from enjoying what he has when he has it. So he only lets himself cry for a moment longer, and after that he just picks up his phone and types out a message in the Team Spider-Man group chat. 

_ Peter _ 👼🏻🕷⚗ _ : _ _ I love you guys more than you could ever know. Like...so much. I love you 3000. _

  
  
  
  


_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck it out with be thus far please give me a shout about what you liked! I need the validation to survive.


End file.
